The Porcelain Doll
by pazu7
Summary: The garden was her home during the early years of life. Then her creator took her from the garden and into the world of passions, from which she had been wrought and from which she would never return.
1. Chapter 1

_Note: This story is approx 82k words in 15 chapters. If you don't like forewords, you can scroll down to read chapter 1. But there is some information here that may help you understand certain elements of the story. BH_

**The Informative and Self-Indulgent Foreword**

**Pt 1: (The Informative Part)**

**A Brief History of The Porcelain Doll**

"The Porcelain Doll" is set in the fictional realm established in the film Artificial Intelligence. It takes place centuries after the unspecified period depicted in the film; during the period in between the fall of the Orga's technological empire, and the eventual rise of the Supermecha. It tells the story of a tribe of wandering nomads struggling to survive amid harsh, chaotic climates and dwindling food supplies.

Needless to say it is a dark tale. And while there is nothing gratuitous in the story, it contains mature topics.

The central character, the namesake of the story, is a robot designed for a very specific purpose; a purpose that most of the people in the story have no use for and do not really understand. She is actually the protagonist of the tale, but her character arc is reactionary, told as background to the stories of the people in whose company she travels. So, perhaps unfairly, it is the trials of a band of Orga that comprises the foreground narrative in a story about a Mecha.

This is the actually third incarnation of "The Porcelain Doll". In it's first life, it appeared as a 40k word novella at my original fan fiction site back in 2002. That version opened at what is about the halfway point for this novel. I was happy with it, and it received a warm reception among the small group of A.I. fans that enjoyed my writing.

Then, sometime in 2003, I decided that the story would work as a stand-alone novel. So I added another 40k words or so, detailing the background of the characters and their trek to the dead city where the first version began. I also decided that I'd need a few more characters to make the longer version work. A few months later I had a completed novel.

I admit now that I was writing with the naive notion that I was constructing a narrative strong enough to form the basis for a sequel to the film. (It's OK to laugh at that. I do.) I was so confident that I even sent a copy of the completed novel to Steven Spielberg. I am sure I don't have to tell you that I never heard back from him.

I never posted the full version. I decided to self-publish. So I removed any copyrighted terminology, things like "The City At The End Of The World," the word "Mecha" and the name "Alan Hobby", although all are referenced in this tale. Hobby is now referred to as "The American", Manhattan is called "The sunken city" and Mecha are simply referred to as "Machine".

Sales were few, but I didn't really care because that was never the point. My book was directed at the fans of my novelized version of the film and I am content with the humble sales I did get.

Last week, as of this writing, I decided to revisit the story and post it for all to read and, hopefully, enjoy. So I embarked on a re-edit and was surprised and encouraged to find many redundancies and inconsistent plot points. I was surprised because I hadn't noticed them before; and encouraged because I had obviously become a better writer since. I tightened what loose ends I could without entirely rewriting the story, but there are still a few 'dodgy bits'. I also deleted a lot of superfluous sentences… entire paragraphs sometimes, and rewrote a few sections that I thought could have been better structured.

Because of the way it developed, the novel starts slowly and then builds towards a climactic end. Think of it like Ravel's "Bolero", starting softly, with little tension, then building in theme and complexity. Or, for you fans of rock and roll, think "Stairway to Heaven." The song doesn't really 'get it on' until the halfway point, but without that slow, moody opening, it is incomplete.

The people depicted in this tale are simple but decent; uneducated but not stupid. Except for one person, who appears later in the tale, their speech patterns were intentionally written slightly askew. And while the nomads are often imperfect, as all we all, they embody what I see as the most noble elements of mankind.

What is posted here is Version 3.0, of my story. I hope you find it consuming enough to finish.

**Pt 2: (The Self-Indulgent Part)**

"**What Good Is A Machine The Plays Piano?"**

Nothing contained in this section is a necessary preface to the story, so you can scroll past it if you wish. It's just a short FYI. But I hope you will indulge me for a moment, because there is actually quite a bit of metaphorical philosophizing in the tale. (though perhaps not as well accomplished as I had originally planned).

My story about a robot that plays the piano was inspired by a discussion about death. David's death, to be precise, the small Mecha child whose search for love is told in the film A.I. It was a, quite often, passionate debate that took place at the original SKG A.I. fansite, and had to do with the subject of robots with souls. Some well-read A.I. fans stated their belief that, one day, robots would acquire a "soul". I do not believe that "soul" is something that is acquired, but that it is, rather, the essence of our true selves; what we really are beneath the layers of flesh that comprise our "soft machine". Simply stated: A brain does not develop a soul. Rather, a brain is the device used by soul to navigate the dense world of matter.

I asserted then, as I do now, that robots will never have that seed of consciousness called "soul"; that robots are actually manufactured extensions of our own consciousness. In no way does this statement diminish their value to society or the aspirations and efforts of those who are in the midst of the difficult process of simulating "Orga".

I decided my point would best made though the subject of art. The reason why that subject is critical is because while art is so unessential to our practical lives it is, conversely, entirely essential to our spiritual lives. We are compelled, often irrationally, to express our 'self' through our senses, in sound and images and movement…. languages that make no sense outside of their own context.

Let's take, for example, that beautiful, lilting clarinet opening to "Rhapsody In Blue". One can write it down, detail the math of the rhythm, the duration of the notes, the pitch and dynamics etc… But the images it evokes, the emotion and _meaning_ behind the music… all that is purely human. One can argue that there is a cultural context as well, but either way, outside of our emotional and psychic connection to art, it makes no sense and has no 'practical' purpose but to communicate what lies beyond the mundane.

That is why we can tell when one version of a picece is better than another, even if the details of their execution are the same. The better version may even be poorly executed by comparison, but might communicate something indefinable but recognizable to those who understand the language.

The robot in my story was designed to interpret music through the element of emotion. But in order for that process to take shape on its own, as it does with you or I, Doll must experience the gamut of life: love, hate, anger, fear, desire…all those emotions that, in excess, form the 7 passions of the mind.

And, unfortunately, there is also death. Much of what we express in our artistic endeavors is inexorably linked to the awareness of our mortality.

In the end The Porcelain Doll is actually a sort of pontification about the strength of the human spirit to endure against all odds, even when we know our end is inevitable; and the roles that our Machines, as the symbols of our aspirations and the extensions of our will, play in our human drama.

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy.

Bryan Harrison.

**The Porcelain Doll**

**A fan-fiction by**

**Bryan Harrison**

**Prologue**

_The garden was her home during the early years of life. The sunlight, golden and diffused through the garden's glass canopy, shone on her, and the soft sprinkle of sound from the flowing pond and the fluttering of butterfly wings, surrounded her. The chittering of the insects hopping over the mural colored flowers and the occasional croak of the giant bowl-eyed frogs that floated lazily on the lily pads, were an ever-present symphony in which she was the central attraction._

_At specified times she would add her own harmonies to the gentle mixture of sound. It was her function. The moment would arise that she leaned forward and placed her hands upon the keys and the notes would flow from her mind, onto the keys and over the surface of the pond, a gentle caress of sound..._

_…a mourning lover's kiss._

_The man would come and sit at times. He would never announce his arrival and she would never acknowledge it. He would listen to her play and often he would cry. But this she did not see; could not see. All she knew was the sound, and even that knowledge had limitations._

_So, she would play when she was supposed to, oblivious to any audience that might arise._

_One day the man had brought another with him, and the two stood quietly in the garden room, in the glow of sunlight and the soft chorus of sound, listening while she played. The men talked to one another as she executed her task, and there was some excitement in their voices that she could not hear. When she was finished with her performance the men left, trailing excited whispers in their wake._

_Days passed before the man came again. Quietly, he walked into the garden and opened the panels of its control. Then he turned it off._

_The insects stopped their chittering, the butterflies' wings ceased to flutter and they landed gently on the now still waters of the pond. The great bowl-eyed frogs grew quiet, their multicolored eyes fixed on nowhere._

_Then the man came for her._

_Gently he lifted her from the podium where she'd played. Her tiny, fragile white face stared up at the world around her, unseeing, unknowing of the passions that burned in the places beyond the garden's canopy. And in the man's heart._

_He kissed her then, softly, lovingly, for she was special to him._

_"Time to wake," he whispered, though she would not hear._

_Then he took her, out from the garden and into the world of passions, from which she had been wrought and from which she would never return._

**Chapter I**

The path disappeared into a blur of white chaos. Blackened stalagmites jutted from the frozen ground and the wind hissed between them, the breath of an angry storm whistling through the wreckage of ancient ruins, over the frozen grave of dead technology and into the valley beyond. Thunderheads raged above and, on the tremulous horizon, tunnels of black clouds shot intermittently from the skies, slapping the earth and then moving swiftly over her broken rocky flesh before dispersing, once again, into the violence of the storm.

The whips of the Gods dispelled their frustrations on the defenseless earth, heedless of the wanderers that wound slowly though the ruins below.

Parker leaned his body into the force of the wind, his head bent low. This was a bad one, a 'boomer', and it had come upon them suddenly and unannounced. But they'd survived boomers before. Stubbornly, the large man burrowed his way through the onslaught. Behind him the others did the same, the lining of their heavy fur coats barely keeping the freezing winds at bay. Their voices reached Parker over the rage of the storm as they called their positions, so none would be lost.

"Ish!" called out first, her heavy frame thrust against the wind. She pulled her hood up when she called, to make sure she was heard, and then dropped it quickly to keep the winds from flaking her flesh. She dragged a well-laden sled behind her, carrying the dwindling provisions the travelers had to live on until the next hunt.

"Tomas!" called next. He walked in the rear of the group, supporting his tall, lean frame with a long spear. The wind whipped his long beard from the sides of his hood and it fell back fell back, revealing a rugged, angular face, and eyes that had seen too many storms.

"Coco!" called out as he struggled over a thick bank of snow. His small, light body was buffeted more than the others, and his coat was thicker, the fur still fresh from the kill. He swore into the clamor of the storm as he struggled against the powerful gusts.

"Mak!" barked his name then. His deep voice was as thick as his body, and boomed on the air as he strode, almost calmly, into the fierce wind.

"Rosa!" yelled into the storm. Her light voice chimed like music in the roar. Her red hair danced like flames at the edge of her hood.

After a moment "Malin!" called wearily over the chaos. She moved her small body forward in a quick leap, and then stopped for the others to call their positions.

"Otter!" called out after her, raising his spear above his head to show his position along the edge of the trail. Then "Boshe!'" and "Rennie!" voiced their locations near Parker, and stood, patiently for the count to be finished. With these final calls, three of the young men of the Tribe were accounted for. But a final voice failed to join the roll, and Parker turned to look. Wrapped in their furry cloaks, the Tribe appeared to him as shadowy ghosts in the rage of snow from above.

He counted. Then he counted again, to be sure, this time confirming the numbers with his fingers.

"Ten," he said to himself. Damn! _"Emre!"_ the big man yelled, hearing his call fail on the braying winds. There was no reply.

The procession knelt out of the wind as Parker counted them. "Damn to you, Emre!" the man muttered. "Stay where you are!" he ordered, walking among the kneeling Tribesmen, recounting their numbers. Ten again. Emre was missing.

"Tomas! What are you _doing _back there?" Parker asked angrily. Tomas was a senior, like himself; he was supposed to assume this responsibility.

"I didn't see anything!" Tomas yelled against the unrelenting wind. "You know how he is," he said after a tense moment. Parker only grunted and waved his hand as if to bat off an irritating insect. He knew too well how Emre' could be. He wanted to stay angry with Tomas; it was easier to have a target for his frustration. But he knew it was unjust. He swore something that got lost in the storm, and scanned the horizon.

"This is the last time," he muttered to himself, knowing it was not true. "When I find that boy, I will…" But Parker ceased his complaints when something caught his eyes. The others followed the man's gaze to see a dark shape, silhouetted against a large snow bank.

"It's him!" Ish yelled. They rose from the snow, relieved that the roll was complete. Emre had been found. All that was left was the scolding he was bound to receive from Parker.

"Damn to you, Emre!" Parker yelled, his anger un-tempered by his relief. He waved his large arms, commanding the young man to get back in line. But Emre' did not come. Instead, he made a beckoning gesture. Perhaps he had found something, Parker reasoned, maybe food or a useful artifact.

"Stay here!" he said to the rest and, grumbling, trod through the wind towards the cluster of ruins.

Ish caught Tomas' attention and made an urgent gesture with her hand. Tomas understood. She wanted him to follow. His presence would prevent Parker from inflicting any undue punishment. The man rose on long legs and moved quickly after their Chief, who had already vanished behind the ancient, crumbling walls.

He arrived not a moment too soon, for, as he dashed around the corner and out of the shrill cry of the wind, he heard Parker's raised voice and saw him shaking Emre' with one strong arm, rapping his knuckles against the young man's hooded head with the other, as if knocking for entry. Emre' made no move to defend himself, but Tomas could see the anger in the smooth darkness of his face.

"I am telling you again?" Parker yelled as he struck. "Are you in there now? Can anybody hear me call?" Emre's lips curled and he snarled like a cornered animal. But he still made no move to divert Parker's blows.

"OK, Parker!" Tomas cried, "It is enough!"

Parker glanced over his shoulder, as if coming out of a daze. He pulled his hands off of Emre', his face uncertain for a moment. But he quickly fell back into anger, and thrust an accusing finger in Emre's face.

"To lead you must first learn to _follow!_ To command you must learn to _obey!"_ Parker felt as if he'd repeated this once for each day they'd been on the journey. "Shelter is _that_ way," he said, pointing at the caves in the summit towards which they were headed. "Chasing you around only leaves us in the storm longer!"

"Are you finished now?" Emre' said. His voice was calm, his body language submissive. But his eyes were still aflame. Parker waited for an insubordination, but after a moment it was apparent that Emre' had more important concerns.

It was over. For now.

Parker took a deep breath and let his anger subside. "What?" he asked. Emre' nodded towards a dark section of the ancient wall before them. "It's a door," he said, plainly.

Parker walked to the spot where the young man had gestured. At the end of the enclosure lay a thick bank of white snow covering a low set building. From the trail outside, it had appeared as simple wreckage. But from here he could see the building was still intact. In the center of the ice encrusted mass was set a wide door. It was blackened by age, and looked as if fire had once scoured its gnarled surface. At the foot of the door the snow was cleared and a crystal sheet of ice lay like a walkway before it. Emre' did not have to explain his urgency. This place had been trod upon. Recently.

Parker made a quick hand signal to Tomas. But Emre' snorted at the futile stealth. "Anyone here has already heard your big mouth, Parker!" he said, not bothering to mask his contempt.

Parker glared at the younger man for a moment, then fixed an eye on Tomas, who better understood the signs on the earth. Tomas knelt near the icy tracks and read them carefully.

"Only one… maybe two people," he said, after a moment. "Small feet. A dwarf or child, perhaps." He rose then, and stepped away from the place. "A quarter day maybe. Definitely since sunrise."

"Get Mak and Coco," Parker said, parting his bear-hide fur and reaching for his sheath. "Tell the others to come out of the wind, but to wait for us here." Emre' started to move but Parker grabbed his arm. "Stay," he ordered as Tomas left.

Parker turned his attention back to the door. Sealed to its face were upraised letters embossed on a plaque of rusted metal, which may have once glittered in the light. Parker fingered the inscription. "A message?" he asked.

Emre put aside his anger again and studied the writing. "It says 'Hall of' something, Parker. I do not know this last word. There are many letters that make no sense together."

"Is it like the 'danger' or 'keep out' words?" Parker asked, cautiously.

Emre' shook his head. "No, no. It is no warning. I have not seen this before. It is not the common talk, whatever it says."

Parker raised a skeptical brow. "Well, if you do not know what it says, then how do you know what it _does not_ say?" he reasoned.

But Emre' dismissed the point. "Parker, why would someone write something important as 'danger' in words that no one can read?"

Parker considered this. It was good thinking, he decided. It satisfied his concerns. He held a gloved hand out to Emre'. "Light," he commanded.

Emre' reached into his coat and extracted a small silver-grey orb, just about the size of his palm. Parker took it quickly, and gestured for Emre to stand away from the door. As if on queue, Tomas, Mak and Coco rushed around the corner, stepping quickly but quietly, their breath forming a frosty mist on the air. The men surveyed the scene, nodded to their Chief and withdrew thick blades from their heavy furs. They were ready.

Just before he moved on the old door, Parker turned and fixed his men with a stern look. "We are not raiders," he said quietly. "We do not strike unless attacked." When they had acknowledged this, he waved them back from the door. Storage places were known to have traps for inattentive explorers, and he would not allow anyone to get hurt. He wrapped his hand cautiously around the thick metal handle in the center of the portal, and pulled.

There was a squeal of complaints from the rusted hinges; the sound filled the enclosure like the weary cries of a creature in pain. Parker pushed and pulled until he felt the door give. Then he shoved his weight against it, and ducked away as it fell open. His stance was light, ready to dodge, his sword raised, ready to strike. Behind him the others were in their positions, watching for anything shifting in the darkness beyond the door; listening for the sound of feet rushing, or the hiss of an arrow slicing through the frozen air.

But they were greeted only by a familiar smell, rushing like a last breath from the dark interior of the ancient structure.

"Something's dead" Emre' pointed out, unnecessarily. Parker shushed him with an impatient look. He knew that reek all too well. They all did. The smell alone was sufficient warning for them to leave this place, and he could tell by the look on the men's faces that they were ready to go. But Parker had to consider the storm. He cast a confident gaze on his men.

"If someone died here, then someone lived here," he reasoned. "And if someone lived here, there might still be food somewhere inside." No one spoke as this point was considered. Eventually they nodded their heads. It was good thinking.

Parker moved to the opening. The silence beyond was as thick as the dead air that hung in the room. He flicked his thumb against the orb in his hand and it came to life, illuminating all around him in a silvery glow. He cupped the light in his palm and turned it, so that it would not hinder his vision. Then he held it up, into to the darkness beyond the door, and passed through.

The storm was instantly muffled by the thick walls. In the orb's glow, Parker could see that the floor beyond was level, so he knelt and rolled the light into the room. The darkness seemed to consume its radiance at first, but then his eyes adjusted and the man gasped. So vast were the dimensions of the place that the light was barely strong enough to reveal the walls and ceiling. The room seemed much too large in comparison with its frozen exterior, but this must have been an illusion of the darkness. Parker stepped forward, his blade thrust before him, his palm raised behind, signaling the others to wait.

The giant room whispered of ancience; of forgotten sciences scrolled into indecipherable patterns on withered paper and fiche, or hardwired into the brains of machines that could no longer accept requests from the descendants of their creators; their batteries drained or stolen; their access codes lost in a mire of forgotten languages. The only sound was that of the wind moaning beyond the enclosure, and the whisper of his feet on the tiled floor. Around him, revealed in the silver glow, Parker could see walls lined with cluttered shelves, stacked high with the cobwebbed relics of a more literate age.

"What is this place?" he said to the silence. Nothing answered. Behind him, the others slipped quietly into the room, awed by its withered majesty.

Emre' stepped close to Parker. "It looks like a 'libarry'," he whispered, his voice dying on the still air. "A place to keep the old science."

Parker grunted an acknowledgement and gestured for the rest of the men to come forward. They obeyed, forming a wide circle around the light, which cast their large shadows against the walls, shadows that Mak studied cautiously as he moved. The reek of death grew stronger with every step.

"No traps," Parker said in satisfied tone. "We'll have to find the dead one and set it to the Shadows before we can bring in the others. There could be food here. Artifacts. Batteries, maybe." He turned to Emre', the slightest hint of an apology on his face. "You may have saved us the climb," he admitted. "We can set here till the boomer is gone."

But Emre' wasn't listening. He gaze went beyond Parker. His brow narrowed and he pointed at something illuminated weakly at the edge of the orb's glow. "What is that?" he asked, alarmed. The others turned, their swords poised and ready. Emre' moved slowly towards the dark shape. It seemed familiar somehow and, as he moved closer, he suddenly realized what he was seeing.

"Woman!" he yelped. He fell into a crouch, thrusting his weapon towards the apparition. The others went on alert, moving away from the light where they'd make easy targets, their blades poised for a fight.

Only Parker stood his ground. He'd seen the shape. It was set in folds of white that cascaded down onto the dark, cold floor, and gathered at the base of the chair in which she sat. He stepped towards her, ignoring the cries of warning that came from his men.

"You can relax," Parker said. "She's no threat to anyone. Not anymore."

He kicked the orb so that it rolled across the floor and stopped near the folds of the woman's dress. She was lit in the glow, her eyes fixed on some point beyond the men.

"She's dead," he said.

"But her eyes, Parker," Emre' whispered, urgently.

Parker shrugged. "I have seen this before, the dead with opened eyes. We are not so much different, maybe." He knelt before the woman, and studied her face. She had been beautiful in life. Her face bore smooth, oval features; her skin was golden brown and her lips full. Her eyes were rings of crystal blue that contrasted oddly with the tone of her dead flesh. Her gaze was set on the eternity beyond this world, into the Shadows. Her hands were folded in the lap of her white gown, as if she had been awaiting something. Or someone. Her hair, caked with the frozen moisture of the room, was fine and black, and ran down the length of her body to gather in the back of the chair. If not for the dust and freeze on her skin, Parker would have thought her alive.

"No signs of the rot," he said. Yet she could not have died of hunger, he thought, for her body was not withered. "There must be food supplies somewhere," he said.

"Maybe the food killed her, man," Mak grunted. "Poisoners. Toxics. They're all around, you know! Better to eat our own kill."

"Maybe her man did it," Coco suggested, disturbed by woman's frozen stare. Who could hurt such a creature as this? And why?

Tomas moved close, to better see the dead woman. There was something wrong here. "Why is she dressed so?" He wondered, casting a wary glance into the darkness about them. "I don't like this," he said in warning. But the others were preoccupied.

"Maybe this, maybe that," Parker replied. "I think she just froze here. It's easy to do." He turned to look at his men. "You grow warm before the freeze. It gets comfortable, and you sleep. Then you just…" He trailed off as the pain of an old memory rose inside. He pushed it back and turned to gaze on the dead woman's face.

"Maybe she finds herself alone one cold night…" he mused aloud, absorbed by her haunting, frozen stare,. "All her men and family gone away… and her dreams just disappear. So she sits here in the cold, and waits for…"

The dead woman's eyes suddenly turned on Parker. The man blurted something indecipherable, and jumped away as the woman fixed him with a look of electric intensity. Her head snapped to life, moving quickly to and fro. Her face twisted into an expression of agitation, breaking the thin film of frost that coated her flesh. The men drew back, horrified and confused.

"She lives!" Emre said in awe.

Tomas had known something was wrong. His heart raced at the sight of her. He didn't believe in the spirits that were said to roam the earth, but his mind fought to make sense of this creature. "Who are you?" he asked, cloaking himself in the shadow beyond the orb's glow.

The woman glanced quickly towards Thomas' voice, but she made no response. Then her expression changed. The suspicion evaporated from her face, and she tilted her head in apparent curiosity. A soft smile grew at the corners of her frozen mouth; a smile that would, in any other situation, be disarming. But the men grimaced at the sight, and moved away.

Parker recovered from his shock. He did not believe in ghosts. There were many dangers in this world, dangers that were all too real. He regained his composure and stepped towards the impossible woman.

"Your name!" he commanded. But his voice broke, embarrassing him. The response was the same as Tomas had received: a vacant smile and curious twist of the head. "Name yourself!" Parker said again, stronger, asserting his office. But the woman only returned his stare for a moment, before turning towards the dark place where Mak and Coco stood poised for fight or flight.

"Devil," Mak whispered, and made a warding sign over his heart. He'd heard of unnatural things that hid in the nether regions of the world, but he had never witnessed one for himself. Coco moaned and moved towards the door, poised to run, his sword held steadily at the woman. He was afraid, yes, but did not think the woman unnatural. "She's crazy," he said.

Emre' stepped into the light, undaunted by the strange woman. The spirits were lies that parents used to keep errant children from playing in the dark, contaminated places of the world: lies that hoarders used to keep travelers from straying too close to their gatherings. There had to be an explanation. She watched Emre calmly as he approached and he finally relented under the strength of her gaze. Then he noticed motion in the folds of her dress.

"Her hands," Emre said, gesturing to the woman's lap where her fingers moved in a slow rhythmic dance, rippling like leaves in a breeze.

Parker set his fears and embarrassment aside. If this woman was not the dead one, then whose stench filled the room? "Who died in here?" he asked. She did not answer, but her eyes turned to him.

"I know you can hear me," he said.

The others came from out of the shadows, emboldened, by their Chief.

"We are just tired travelers," Parker explained, holding his palm upraised, to show he was friendly. "Just looking for a place to rest," he said. "We are not here to hurt you or take your things." He knelt beside her, eliciting warnings from his men. "Why don't you speak to us?" he asked gently, and reached out to touch her.

A shrill voice broke in the darkness._ "Nooooo!" _

Parker ducked quickly, as something flew from the space beyond the woman and brushed by his head to clatter loudly on the ground behind him. The men formed a protective circle around their Chief.

"_Step away from her!" _someone yelled from the shadows_._ _"She is not for that!"_

Emre kicked at the orb, so that it rolled in the direction of the voice. Shadows danced wildly against the walls and ceiling as the rolling orb revealed the dark recesses of the room. A small figure dashed out of the sudden light, upsetting tables and piles of dusty machinery.

_"Go back out now! Go away from her!"_ the voice yelled. It was a frantic, desperate sound. A large piece of metallic debris flew from the dark, and Mak swung his sword, intercepting its flight. It crash against a wall, shattering into frozen fragments that clattered to the floor.

"_There is nothing here for you!" _

Emre raised his blade and moved towards the voice. But he was stopped by a tug on his arm.

"No," Parker whispered, pulling Emre' back. "It's only a child." He waved his arm to call off his men. Then he held his hands out to his sides, to show them free of weapons, and stepped into the light.

"Listen," he said calmly, "We are not here to steal. We want nothing from you or your woman."

Emre' hissed. "You are going to get cut, Parker!" he warned. But the man continued confidently.

"We are just seeking cover!" he explained, "I am sure you can hear how bad it is outside! We will not…"

A frantic bundle of wild blonde shot from the darkness towards Parker., something feral glinting in its upraised hand. _"Leave us alone!" _the small figure screamed, slicing at the air wildly as it came.

Parker sidestepped the attack and pushed the child by, to land in a heap against the wall. Then he jumped back quickly to intercept Emre's blow.

"It's only a boy!" he shouted, and ducked just in time to hear the child's blade swish by his head. The child rushed back into the shadows and hid. The men could hear his ragged breath in the dark. The impossible woman sat calmly, observing the confrontation with a disinterested smile, as if the violence was none of her concern.

"Stop this, boy!" Parker said in a stern voice. "Look at us! We are many! If we wanted your woman we would just take her!"

The boy whined from his hiding place. "We don't have anything for you!" he cried. "No guns! No Food! Goaway!_"_ There was weariness now, obvious in his desperate pleas.

"We have food, boy," Parker replied. "We have plenty to share."

"You lie!" the boy accused, and something else flew out of the dark. But it was only a small object that bounced on the floor and rolled to a stop against the shelves of books.

Parker turned to his men. "Give me something!" he whispered. The men exchanged quick glances before Emre' reluctantly parted the heavy fur of his jacket and retrieved a strip of salt dried meat. He tossed it to Parker, who held it up for the boy to see.

"Look boy," he said, "I have something for you." He walked back into the glow of the orb and knelt, dangling the tangled piece of jerky before him. "It's good meat. Big horse. Killed it just last moon." He took a bite and chewed dramatically. "Mmmm," he said, rubbing his stomach.

There was no reaction at first, just the soft sound of the boy's troubled breathing. Then a thin whimper broke the silence, and Parker knelt to greet the little man that walked cautiously from the shadows.

He was in his tenth year, maybe, still well before his bloom; bundled in soiled rags of clothing that were dark and musky from wear. His face was grim; his skin, pale and sallow. He needed sun. He needed a bath. His golden blonde mane was unkempt and dirty, his body thin and malnourished.

But his eyes! Though weary and squinted in suspicion, they were the deepest blue Parker had ever seen. They seemed to penetrate the gloom, darting back and forth between Parker's face and the jerky he held in hand.

"Here," Parker cooed. "We won't hurt you." The boy stopped, just inches from the meat dangling from Parker's hand. After a moment of anxious hesitation, he reached out, snatched the stick, and jumped back to the border of the shadows. He knelt there and began to gnaw savagely.

Parker relaxed. They all did. This was a good sign.

"Easy boy," Parker warned, holding up his hands in a gesture to slow down. "Not too fast or you'll have to make a run." The men laughed and lowered their weapons as they stepped into the light to watch the strange child. Parker waved them back. "You'll scare him," he whispered.

In moments the stick was gone. Parker beckoned for another. One was passed to him, from Tomas this time, and met a similar fate.

The boy was slowing now, as his stomach filled. He looked up at the men with a weary expression of surrender on his face.

"What do I call you?" Parker asked, not daring to approach lest he scare the boy off.

"Uncle calls me Daniel," the boy replied, after a moment's consideration. His voice was proper and polite now that he wasn't trying to stab anyone.

"Uncle?" Parker inquired.

The boy chewed another mouthful of jerky before he responded. He gestured towards the darkness behind him. "Uncle is asleep," he said weakly, and his eyes started to flutter. "He won't wake up and…" Daniel's head rolled on his neck and his knees buckled, but he quickly righted himself. ",and he pooped himself," he explained when he'd regained his composure.

"And her?" Emre' asked, gesturing to the silent woman. She seemed oblivious to the scuffle between Parker and the boy.

Daniel's eyes grew suspicious and his lips formed into a snarl. "She's not for that," he said in a trembling growl.

"We will not hurt her, child," Parker said. "We just want to know what to call her."

"My name is Daniel, not _child!"_ the boy replied angrily. Then he swooned as if the effort of yelling had tired him.

The men eyed each other, surprised and amused by the boy's response. Parker made a calming sound. "Ok, Daniel," he said. "What is your friend called, and why is she fed while you go hungry?"

Daniel looked hard into Parker's eyes. The man was big, perhaps as big as the bear from which he must have taken the fur of his coat. His voice was deep and gruff, his accent as thick as his muscular arms. His skin was as dark as the night and, even in his calm expression, his face was grim, his gaze intense. Yet there was something gentle there too.

"She is called Doll," Daniel said, when whatever he saw in Parker's eyes disarmed him. "She's is the only one of her kind and she needs no food from you. She eats from the sun."

The woman turned when the boy spoke her name. A new smile broke on her lips and she adjusted her torso in the chair so that she was facing Daniel. Still, she did not speak.

"Eats from the sun?" Emre' mocked and the others shared a chuckle. But they were silenced by a grunt from Parker.

"What is wrong with her, Daniel?" the man asked.

"I am ok now," Daniel replied, matter-of-factly, holding up his forefinger in a resolute gesture. His eyes fluttered and he shook his head to clear his thoughts. "I thank you sincerely. You've been helpful and… can go now. I… I will… be just fine, " he said. Then his eyes rolled up, his head tilted, and he fell forward. Parker had to jump quickly to catch the boy before he smacked the floor.

He had passed out completely.

Parker took Daniel's limp frame into his lap. The child was as light as a bundle of feathers. He placed his head against the dirty cloth that covered the boy's chest, and listened. The young heart was beating strong. His breathing was thick, but unbroken. The boy's hunger was a good sign that the rot was not on him. But Parker checked his face and hands for holes in the flesh, or telltale splotches of darkness. The men watched quietly as Parker inspected under the boy's hair, loosed his soiled clothing and checked his emaciated frame. They knew what it was he sought.

"Nothing," Parker said, relieved, and gently laid the boy on the floor. The others nodded, acknowledging the weight of this information. Had he found anything, there would be nothing they could do to save the child.

Parker stood and considered the silent woman. She gazed up at him, smiling in detached curiosity. Her odd gaze disturbed him, everything about her did. But he also felt that she was no danger. Strange and requiring an explanation, yes, but not dangerous.

"Call in the others," he said, finally.

_It is not sleep from which she has been awakened, but it is as close as she can come to that state. There was nothing like time for her in this blankness. It could have been a thousand years had it been a day._

_The activity that ignited her awakening had ceased quickly as the men retreated into the shadows, their faces contorted into that pattern she knew as 'fear'. They had assumed she would not see them in the dark. But she did, and she wondered at their panic._

_She had watched calmly as the boy rose from the shadows to defend her, throwing the old broken machinery at the intruders. But in the end he had fallen from the effects of his withering._

_Others soon came into the study. Wrapped tightly in dirty animal hides and hooded against the cold, they trudged in from the storm. They brought light and sound with them, the bustle of their entry, the whisper of their furry coats against the walls of the place, and the thud of heavy packs dropping to the floor. They brought their weariness and anxiety too. Their words filled the room as they discussed the many things of their concern, matters unimportant to her._

_"What is that smell?" asked one. "Is there food here?" asked another. ""Who is she" and "Are there others" they said._

_She had no answers for these questions, so she made no reply. She tried the 'smile' face as they studied her warily. But her welcoming expression did nothing to affect their caution._

_The women among them took the sleeping boy from the large man, and placed him in the folds of thick blankets. They huddled over the bundled child, making soft sounds as they fussed about him. She had seen others of their kind do this in the past._

_But the child did not respond. He had withered, as had the man who had cared for her, before he fell into that sleep from which his kind never wake._

_The strangers searched the study and found the fallen man. They took him outside, into the snow, where they spoke words over him, dug into the ground, and placed his still body beneath the frozen earth._

_The room is lit now, with their small devices. It grows warm with their presence and their flame. Not that the temperature would concern her either way. They know this about her, she can tell. They know she is different. They study her quietly as they settle for the night. Their eyes send a million coded signals._

_Wariness._

_Confusion._

_Curiosity._

_Soon the questions will come._


	2. Chapter 2

**The Porcelain Doll**

**Chapter II**

**1**

The winds had been reduced a low hum, muffled by the thick walls of their sanctuary. The men had found the body of the one called "Uncle", and had taken it into the snows. The reek of it was passing as the aroma of burning fat filled the air. Ish had pulled a great black cooking bowl from her pack, and a small fire was crackling in the animal fat smeared on its lip. The warmth of the small flame grew as the Tribe huddled quietly, shedding the exertion of their journey. Later they would explore the place. Perhaps valuable artifacts: lights, batteries, even weapons might be found in its darkened halls. But for now it was enough to retreat from the cold, to gather around the warmth of the flame, and be quiet together.

The silent woman had not moved from her chair. She showed no reluctance to their occupation, just a smile, disturbing in its unguarded curiosity. Her crystal blue eyes were odd, childlike; as intense on them as theirs on her.

Malin finished tying her back long black hair, wrapped herself in her blanket, and huddled close to the fire. "And what about her?" she asked, eyeing the woman suspiciously. "She shows no hunger."

The Tribe offered muted sounds of acknowledgement, but no one answered. Malin's eyes turned to Parker, who only shrugged and continued to gnaw a stick of dried meat. "She's not dangerous," he said, nonchalantly, when Malin's gaze lingered. "Leave her be."

Emre' rose and opened a blanket he had pulled from his pack. "She's lame or slow or something," he said, not caring that the woman would hear. "She just smiles that stupid smile." He slipped out of his fur pants and under a blanket of animal hide, and started humming a song under his breath. He was hoping to catch Rosa's ear, and then her eye. But she was with Ish, hovering over the boy, who was bundled tightly in a blanket. She hummed as she ran her fingers through the sleeping child's hair.

Mak toyed nervously with the black whiskers that formed his goatee. He had taken a place on the far side of the fire, away from the woman, and would not get any closer until she was explained. ""Lock her in one of the other rooms, that's what I say," he grumbled. "Maybe then I can get some sleep." He grunted a low verse, and made a warding gesture, placing his hand, palm out, to his chest and then opening it to the floor. With this he hoped to catch, and let fall, the dark spirit of the woman's presence.

Otter was oiling his skin, flexing his rippled body, and unabashedly admiring himself in the light of the flame. He noticed Mak's gesture and snickered. "Yes, Mak," he said, "She's come to take you into The Pit where she will hump you for all eternity. Be very afraid."

The Tribe burst into laughter and Mak glared at them. "Don't make fun of what you don't understand," he warned over the sound of their teasing.

Rennie and Bosche were huddled under a blanket, already on the verge of sleep, when the laughter awoke them. Bosche stretched a yawn and eyed the woman a moment before he spoke. "She doesn't look a Roamer to me," he said, "maybe a southerner. She has that look, right? Like she has been inside too long." He elbowed Rennie for confirmation, but Rennie only groaned a sleepy complaint, and covered his head with the blanket.

Coco rose and walked to the sled, where he opened the salt pack. "She just been out here too long, eh?" he said, dismissively as he pulled a jerky stick from the pack. He bit into it and mumbled through a mouthful of meat. "People loose their brain in the wastes, you know."

"Easy on that, Coco," Parker warned. "We've still got the Highland to pass." Coco shrugged this off as he rejoined the huddle. Emre' jumped from his blanket and tapped the smaller man on the head. "I suppose you don't hear well?" he asked in a challenging voice.

There was a tense silence as Coco turned to stare up at the younger man. But he only winked at Tomas. "Can you believe this boy?" he laughed. "Thinks he's already Chief."

Tomas nodded to acknowledge Coco, but decided to stay out of this particular confrontation. He had been keeping his eyes on the strange woman as he pondered the future of the Tribe. He knew this matter between Coco and Emre' was more than the innocent scuffle it seemed. They had a long way to go and little arguments could blossom into vendettas. He had seen it before. A romp might be necessary. He glanced at Parker, who he thought should order the two into the snow now, to fight it out. But the man seemed preoccupied and Tomas kept his tongue.

"It was my spear killed this one, I recall," Coco pointed out, waving the meat over his head as he dismissed Emre's premature attempt at being in charge.

"It was all our spears took it down, and it is all our food," Emre' snapped, his chest and ire rising together. But he was silenced by a strong look from Parker. The man's eyes said, 'let it go'.

Rosa looked up from her place by the boy. "I think we should see to her," she said, "find out what is her problem. We cannot have a mad woman on the ice. She will die."

"Who said anything about taking her with us?" Emre' asked quickly, irritated by the suggestion.

"I think she would come in handy," Otter suggested with a lascivious wink and a thrust of his hips. "At least she knows how to keep her mouth."

"Which is something you could learn," Malin responded quickly. Otter hooted a laugh.

Rennie finally uncovered his head and joined the debate. "She might be sick, you know? We should sit her somewhere else." Mak grunted a quick second to Rennie's logic.

"She shows no sickness," Parker said, dismissively.

Ish had been listening quietly while she saw to the sleeping child. She'd given him fluids, wrapped him tightly in a fur and discarded his dirty clothing, which had reeked of sweat and death. When he awoke he could be clothed in some of Malin's things. She was the smallest among them and her clothing would do until they had time to weave something special. For now what he needed was sleep and warmth. Later he would be hungry.

Ish stood, satisfied that, for the time being, the child was OK. She stepped away from the huddled Tribe, who followed her with their eyes. She fixed them with an impatient look, and then turned her attention to the silent woman, who returned her curious gaze. Ish pondered this blank stare for moments. She quickly understood.

"You think she has lost her mind, eh Coco'?" she asked, putting her hands on her weighty hips. But Coco was busy chewing and ignored the question.

"Or maybe she is a devil, right Mak?" Ish continued, amusing herself with the notion.

"She should be dead, like the old man." Mak said in his defense.

Emre' sat back on his bedding. "She just sits there. She says nothing," he pointed out. "There is something not right, that is sure."

Ish scratched her head, as if perplexed by the addled reasoning of children. "Sometimes I think you men come from another world," she said, in mock disgust. "You cannot see what is at your nose. She is frozen but does not shiver. She looks fed when there is no food. She is alive when she should be dead."

Ish approached the woman and reached out to feel her face. She pinched the flesh and felt the smoothness of her cheek. The smiling woman made no move to stop this inspection. "Stand!" Ish commanded, and The Tribe watched in amazement as the quiet woman stood obediently. Ish continued her inspection, feeling the woman's frame, running her hands over the trim white cloth of her dress to feel the body beneath. "Very good" she said, impressed with the attention to detail. It was even warm to the touch. Then she noticed the men's raised eyebrows and knowing smiles. She sighed and shook her head.

"You humping-mad fools," she scolded with a hearty laugh. "Can't you see she's Machine?"

**2**

_They rise now, their fears set aside and interests renewed. It is time for the inspections, the pinching, the poking and prodding. The big woman squeezes her face and pulls at the flesh of her arms while the others tug at her hair and poke fingers in her ears. One of the younger men lifts her dress to inspect beneath her clothing. But a small woman tackles him to the dusty floor. She makes the laughing sounds as she punches and scolds him._

_Doll tolerates this all with her usual detachment. She is not afraid. Their inspections do not cause her pain and this attention is not new to her. She has seen it time and time again, for longer than anyone here would realize… or perhaps believe._

_Finally the large man bids the others away and they obey, moving back to their blankets as the big woman speaks. Her words are sorted and deciphered. An inquiry is being made. Doll registers the question but before she responds the large man speaks._

**3**

"The boy called her Doll," Parker said, rolling a finger across the Machine woman's lips. It did not shy from the touch, only smiled its lazy smile as it gazed back at him.

Ish glanced wryly at Parker. "You are just like the youngsters!" she whispered playfully. "Always humping on the mind."

"No, no," Parker said, "it is just that she is so real to touch. We thought she was… well, something else."

Ish clucked her tongue. "What? A demon? A spirit?" she asked. "Parker, you are too old for that silliness."

"Shut up, woman," Parker replied, sternly.

Ish's raised a challenging brow. "Oh yes?" she said. "You are posing for the men, now? You think we are back in South City?"

But Parker was already laughing at himself, waving off the confrontation. "I have never seen one like this before, " he said seriously. "No damage. No rust. What is it made of?"

Ish shrugged. The science that had created this Machine was long dead. There were few of her kind left in the world and they could not be duplicated anymore, perhaps never again. "You know," she said, with a realization in her eyes, "there should be a good battery inside her, Parker. Maybe something we can use."

Parker rubbed his chin as he considered this. "Not a good idea," he said with a glance over his shoulder. "The boy said it was special to him. I think he would not be happy if he should wake and find it broken."

Ish sighed, as if this would be of little concern to her, but she pushed the subject no further. "Sit there, Machine," she said, gesturing to the corner of the room, "and wait for your master to wake. We will find out more about you then."

Doll walked obediently to the place where the woman pointed and folded herself into the corner where she sat soundlessly as the Tribe prepared for the night.

Meat and drink were rationed out. Blankets were unfurled and spread on the floor. Sleeping arrangements were negotiated and those who had coupled crawled into blankets together. Tomas sat by the door for the first watch and the Tribe settled for the night, taking refuge from the concerns of the day and those that would follow in the morrow.

Outside the wind began to howl. But the sound soon faded in their ears, and was lost in sleep.

**4**

_She listens to the wailing of the world outside as the people around her fall into their dreams. One of them, the tall man with the long hair on his face, sits alone in the corner, watching over the others. In time he is replaced by another, one of the younger men, who sits quietly, glancing at her occasionally. Her sensory triggers have been reactivated by their presence, and she will not retreat, again, into that state in which they found her. Under the folds of her clothing her fingers do an automatic dance as, in her mind, the signature codes of an ancient language are revived._

_Across the room, in a bundle of furry coats near the big woman's bedding, the boy frets and grumbles in an uneasy slumber._

**5**

Daniel awoke to the sound of someone screaming. It was a terrified, wavering voice, fearful and desperate. His own.

The horrible dream that had spawned his scream vanished instantly, but traces of its violence, savage and red, followed him into consciousness. They faded quickly, mercifully, but were replaced by a thought even more terrifying: He had no idea where he was.

He lay still for a time, listening to the wind whistling outside, feeling the dizzying heat of his fever in his skull and the tickle of fur against his skin. This was not his blanket. It smelled of sweat and the faint trace of whatever animal it had been cut from. He raised his head, slowly, trying to discern what was revealed in the faint light around him. This was the main study, he realized, and remembered that Uncle had been sleeping here, in his sickness. He had been waiting for Uncle to wake when the storm had come and trapped him inside. He'd wanted to forage in the ruins for something to eat but he could not leave. Then…

An image flashed into Daniel's mind, the memory of a giant of a man, dark and travel worn, wrapped in the fur of a great Bear. The man had come into the study, and he had not been alone.

Where was Doll?

Daniel tried to rise, but his head spun madly, and he fell back into the bedding. He tried to call her name, but pain flared in his throat and he could utter no more than a squeak. What if they had taken her? He had promised Uncle, promised that he would watch over her, and a promise was a sacred thing! That's what Uncle had told him.

He struggled again to rise and fulfill his promise. But there was suddenly a face beside him, illuminated in the dim light. Daniel grunted and fell back into the blanket. The face hovered over him now. It was oval, with dark flesh and broad, flat features. Its eyes were black orbs that seemed to look right into him.

"Shhhh… don't be afraid," said the face. "I will not hurt you. No one will." The voice was deep, the accent was thick and round, and the words were rhythmic and musical. Daniel had never heard such a voice before. But then again, he had heard so few voices over the course of his short life. A smile grew on the face. "You are safe, little one," it said, and Daniel felt his forehead wrapped in a warm dry palm. "See, you are getting better already. You just need sleep. And washing!" The chuckled and then disappeared from his sight. But it came back quickly, saying "Open up."

Daniel did not understand this. His expression twisted in hesitant confusion. "Open your mouth, little one," the face said more sternly.

"My name is, Daniel," he corrected gruffly, his throat burning with the effort.

"Ok, Daniel," the face replied. "Open your mouth, now." Daniel reluctantly complied. When he tasted the sweet juice that was squeezed over his tongue, he was glad he did.

"I am called Ish," the face said, as Daniel savored the mad rush of flavor. It filled his senses and made his head swoon deliciously. "You are with the Tribe now, Daniel," said the face called Ish, "and we will see to your needs till you are strong."

"Tribe." Daniel echoed the word thoughtfully, "You are roamers?" he asked. Uncle had said he should not trust roamers. But if they were going to hurt him, wouldn't they have done so already?

"Yes, we roam, Daniel," Ish replied, "The man you saw, that was Parker. He is our leader. And Emre' was there too." The face called Ish turned to retrieve something, and then came back. "And Tomas and Mak were with them.." Ish squeezed more of the sweet, strong fluid into Daniel's mouth. "And there is Rosa and Malin. They will be glad to meet you. And Coco and Otter… here drink…" She filled his mouth again, "…and Bosche' and Rennie, who are well past their bloom, but not really much older than-"

"Where is Doll?" Daniel interrupted, before Ish could fill his mouth again.

"Your Machine is fine, don't worry about it," Ish replied quickly.

So they knew. Daniel sighed. He hoped they hadn't tried to take parts from her. Uncle always said roamers were scavengers, and the worst people that Doll could encounter. But something in Ish's voice calmed him. His head was getting light and he was beginning to feel warm and comfortable. "And Uncle?" he asked after swallowing another mouthful. "Is he still sleeping?"

Ish was quiet for a moment, and her eyes expressed some introspection that Daniel could not read. "We can talk about your Uncle under the sun. You sleep more, now," she said.

"He is not mine. He is just Uncle," Daniel corrected her.

Ish smiled. "OK. He is just Uncle," she said. "And you are just a sick boy who needs to sleep"

Daniel was feeling sweetly dizzy. He gazed thoughtfully at Ish, wondering what kind of person was behind those strange, dark features. "You're a 'woe-man' aren't you?" he asked, sleepily. Uncle had explained the 'woman' to him a long time ago.

Ish laughed, again, at this strange child. The ferment was taking effect. His eyes rolled and his lids were heavy. He would not wake them with screams again. "Yes, Daniel, I am a 'woe-man'," she replied softly, as he drifted off.

"Doll is like a woe-man," Daniel whispered as he fell into dreams again. These new dreams, however, came like clouds, in calm shades of blue and amber, flowing gently through the view of his mind's eye. He did not wake himself, or the others, again.

**6**

The sun broke the horizon, a cold silver orb behind a bank of grim clouds. Its light cast a pale glow through the dirty windows of the museum. Emre' watched the silvery beams move into the room as he devoured some dried berries, a privilege of taking the late watch. The winds had died during the night and the silence outside lifted his spirits. Soon they could be on their way.

He chewed slowly, coursing the trails with his mind, calculating time and distance, supplies and dangers. He wanted out of this dark, stinking place. Even without the reek of death, there was a dank finality to the dusty shelves and time-stained windows. This place was death itself, the grave of a forgotten history.

Emre' noticed that the sunlight was illuminating the Machine woman's face. He watched her head move slightly so her gaze was set into the beam of light. Was she "eating from the sun", as the boy had claimed? Emre felt a chill at the sight. It was hard to believe she was not human.

The others were finally awakening, moaning and stretching in their furs. Beside the place where Parker and Ish lay together, a small form was wrapped tightly. Emre' shook his head at the sight.

"How can we tend to this boy?" he pondered aloud, not directing this question at anyone in particular. "We only have enough meat for the pass and the hills."

Parker sat up in his blankets, and stretched his muscular body. "How _will_ we feed the boy? Is that what you mean to say, Emre'?" he asked. "You are not thinking we should leave him to die, are you? I know you are not saying that."

Emre' shrugged and started to reply. But then he caught Ish's glare and looked away. He had made a mistake by speaking his thoughts aloud.

"I remember another boy we found, Emre'," Ish said coolly from where she lay beside Parker. "He was a skinny little brat who would never shut up and never listen and he ate everything we had." She hoisted her weighty frame up on her elbows and yawned. "I remember him sneaking into the salt pack more than once, and I remember smacking his little behind, too."

Tomas sat up in his bedding, yawning, and stretching his long thin arms toward the ceiling. "Oh yeah, _that_ boy," he laughed, joining in on the tease. "I remember him too. I had to slap his ass a few times myself."

"But we did not think of leaving _him_ to the cold," Ish continued, seriously. "Is that what you would say we do now?"

"No!" Emre' barked. He shoved his fur aside and stood. "I am just saying that…"he stammered a moment, "…that we will have to change some things. That is all. If we are going to make it across the hills, we have to do things differently."

"Well, thank you for letting us know what we already knew," Parker said.

"Let him have Emre's portions," Mak suggested from where he lay, bundled up like a bear.

"Let him earn his own," Emre' snapped back, "just like I did, and Otter and Rennie."

Bosche made an audible 'harrumph' from beneath his blankets.

"And Bosche' too," Emre' added, diplomatically.

"Don't bring me into this fight," Otter warned from across the room. He jumped quickly from his blankets, bouncing on his toes and stretching his trim, muscular body. "The road waits. Boy or no boy, let's go before the storms realizes it didn't kill us and comes back for another try."

"Don't you ever get tired of the road?" Malin complained as she rose from her bedding beside where Emre' sat.

"The boy is too sick for the path right now," Ish said.

"Too sick?" Emre' sighed. "We cannot wait here. We have too far to…"

"Shhh," Rosa hissed, as she sat up in the blanket beside Coco, who was still sleeping soundly. "We do not need to talk about him that way," she said, brushing her fiery mane from her face. She slipped quickly from the blankets and into her thick clothing. "We found him, and he is now our responsibility. Right, Ish?"

Ish raised an eyebrow to acknowledge this. "That is the way we do things," she confirmed.

"And what of food?" Emre' asked. "This meat will only last through the Highlands. If we leave now, we can ration until we find a hunt. But if we wait, we run the risk of…"

"Be quiet, Emre'," Parker ordered. He set impatient eyes on the younger man. "The boy cannot travel yet, and we will not leave him to starve. We will wait until he is ready and then continue our way to the Basin."

Emre's mouth hung open, on the verge of another complaint, but Parker's stern expression put a close to the debate. He pursued the matter no further.

Otter's shoulders slumped and he sighed dramatically. But he did not argue. There were muffled sounds of dismay from beneath the blanket where Bosche' and Rennie lay, but neither of the young men would dare raise their voice against Parker. Tomas and Mak knew better than to make a challenge. The Chief had spoken, and Emre' had conceded. Unless there was a direct challenge from Ish, the matter was decided.

"We will eat lightly," Parker said over the silence. "Until we find good hunting ground."

No one spoke the doubts that harbored in their minds. What if the boy was sick for days? Weeks? And when was the last time any of them had seen good hunting ground? Not since they'd left the south, for sure. Snow laden fields; silent forests where big cats roamed seeking anything they could kill; barren and poisoned wastes, lined with the remains of a distant, incomprehensible past. That was all they had seen in weeks.

"This is why the others left, Parker," Emre' said, in a sober voice. A potent silence followed his words.

"The others left because they wanted something that is gone, Emre," Parker said softly, but his face displayed his anger. "They left because they thought there was some place in the world where they could hide from what is happening all around."

Coco had awakened to hear Parker's last comment. He sat up and waved his arms to draw attention. "South City, right?" he said with a waking yawn. "We should have stayed there! There was game and shelter and-"

"And pirates and cats and damned fools that ran the place!" Parker interrupted. "Is that what you want, Coco? To live by the rule of idiots and thieves?" Coco closed his mouth, realizing he must have missed part of the conversation.

Parker stood, not bothering to cover his massive frame. The scars of old battles laced his arms and legs like veins. They were the symbols of his office, carved into the very flesh of his body. "You want to live like a coward," he continued, "on your knees like a dog, fighting every day just to keep your catch, to keep your women from the raiders? Then go! Because that is all that is left to the South. Fights and more fights! The Basin is where we will find all we need! Not in the South where the people still hold onto old dreams."

Rosa stood angrily, and faced Parker. "Shhh…" she scolded, holding a finger to her lips. "Take your fight outside. The boy needs his rest," she said. Only the women could tame Parker's anger when it grew this hot

But Emre' was undaunted by Parker's outburst, and continued in a whisper. "Nobody has met anyone who has been to the Basin in years, Parker. It is probably dead by now, frozen over like the rest of the world."

Ish rejoined the debate. "It is there, Emre'," she said, calmly, her face displaying a confidence born of all her years on the path. "I have seen it. I was just a girl, yes, but I have seen it." She stretched before she continued, and her face grew dreamy with a recollection.

"I have seen fields of trees that stretch across the horizon. I have seen the old towers brought to life. I have seen people living in them and even making the old wagons move over the ground." She sat up tall and her gaze fell on them, one by one, as she spoke. "There were music boxes and big lights that lit the towns at night, and people gathered together to learn letters and numbers; to talk of the future and the past. There were storytellers and dramatics, and they made the moving pictures work again."

She gestured to Doll, who was sitting quietly against the wall, staring into a sunbeam." There were even Machine people, like her," she said, "though not so well cared for, I would say." She was quiet a moment, reading their faces, before she continued.

"We could have hid in South City, yes, and maybe we could have fought off the pirates for a time. But you know Parker is right. In the end, we would have spent all our time fighting with them, or running from them. And what about the cats? And the Bears? How long could we compete with those monsters for the hunt?"

Ish's words were having an effect. The Tribes' doubts were fading quickly and their faith in the trek renewed.

"In time the South City will fall to the freeze," she said. "The Basin is where we will be able to build a new home. We will have opportunity there. A future."

No one spoke. Ish was right, they knew. The south only looked good now because of their weary months on the path. When they thought about it, the difficulty of life there was refreshed in their minds. But they could not forget that it had been warmer. And they had not been alone.

"It's too soon in the day for this," Rosa complained, opening up the salt pack and retrieving the morning's portions. "Let's eat now. We can fight later."

"Rats, Parker," Tomas said, unexpectedly. "Maybe some squirrels, if we can catch them? Is that the hunting you mean?"

There was another silence. A challenge from Emre' was to be expected, even Coco's comments were predictable. But Tomas was the second senior man, and Parker did not know how to react to his words. After an uncomfortable moment, he simply brushed them off, and slid back into his blanket.

"Squirrels must be good," Otter suggested, trying to break the tension. "So hard to catch, right? Like a good woman."

Malin rose quickly, from her fur, and whipped her arm in an arc. Something flew from her hand, across the room, and hit Otter in the face. The boot thudded loudly against his head and fell to the floor. he Tribe erupted into laughter.

"We'll see what you say when you sleep alone, again, tomorrow, " Malin said. Otter quickly decided it was best to keep his tongue

"I, for one, am glad the boy must rest," Malin said as she rose to retrieve her boot. "It will be nice to get away from the path. At least for a day."

"Eat now," Rosa called. They all moved quickly beside the bowl, where she rationed out appropriate portions of sizzling meat and meal. The Tribe scooped up with their portions with their fingers, savoring each mouthful. The helpings were smaller than usual, but no one complained. They had a new member, a little one. The young were rare and precious. The sacrifices made for their well-being were necessary.

"Maybe there is something we can use here," Coco said in between mouthfuls. "It's a big place." The others acknowledged this without breaking from their meal.

"The boy should know his way around," Ish suggested, "but he won't be much of a guide now."

Emre' turned and yelled, "How about you Machine?" Do you know this place?" But the Machine woman only tilted her head curiously and smiled. "Yeah, I thought so," Emre' laughed.

"She _must_ be for the humping," Otter suggested through a mouth full of food. "Too stupid for anything else." The men laughed and the women threw scraps of bone at him.

"You would think that, since that's all you think about anyway!" scolded Malin.

"Just look at her," Otter replied, seriously. "What else would she be for? Lifting? Digging?"

"But if humping is her job, then the boy would have no use for her," Rosa said.

"Yet," Malin added, with a wink.

"I could give it a try," smiled Mak, raising his eyebrows lasciviously. The women moaned at the thought and berated the big warrior.

"Doing a Machine?" Malin sneered, her face pinched in disgust. "That's nasty."

"Well, she must be good," Otter suggested. "It killed the old man." Their laughter diffused the tension of their argument and they finished their morning meal peacefully.

7

_She listens as they joke about her, though the meaning of their words often escapes her. The sound of their laughter is an incomprehensible cackling against her aural device. She is consumed in her own mental procedures, and only the smallest portion of her processing is devoted to interpreting their words. Her preoccupation is a process that was started long ago, a process that consumes her and, even through this depth of time, has yet to be resolved._

**8**

The day grew into tedium as they waited for the boy to wake. Ish saw to his needs, washing him and rubbing him in oils. She fed him drink and healing herbs. He swallowed automatically, grumbling in his slumber.

At midday, the men decided to search the place, to see if anything of value could be found in its decrepit halls. They coursed through the dark passageways and searched large empty rooms, lighting their way with a small orb that Parker held, and then a flame that Bosche carried when the orb's battery dried up.

In every room they found the wreckage of years strewn about the floor. Old computing machines and small fragile things were crushed underfoot as they passed. Many of the rooms seemed to have been broken into. Windows had been smashed and large unidentifiable objects lay in disarray, damaged beyond recognition.

In one room, huge soot covered windows allowed intermittent blades of light to slip in and Parker placed the orb in the sun, to let it charge. Coco noticed a pile of painted cloth amassed on the floor in the center of the room. He picked one up. There were images on the cloth, faces and strangely shaped people, rendered in flaking, faded paint.

"Hey Parker!" Emre' said, laughing. "This looks like you!" Parker strolled to see what was so amusing. But he was stilled by something in the painting, and did not laugh. It was faded, like the rest, and dust and cobwebs lined its frame. But the canvas was still intact and, on the face of it, there could be seen a solitary man, dressed in only a loincloth and brandishing a long spear at his side. His face was as dark as the deep earth, as dark as Parker's own, and he stood before a misty ocean. The cracked and flaking paint made the waves appear to froth right out of the picture. Though the man's face could not be seen clearly, there was something lonely in his features. His gaze was set out over the watery horizon as if he sought something ever elusive.

Emre laughed again, and punched Parker on the shoulder. But the man had become silent, withdrawn, his face set in some unreadable emotion. After a moment he looked away. "There is nothing here," he said solemnly, and walked off, leaving Emre' to regard the antique once more, trying to see what had caused such a reaction. He could not. So he followed the others out of the room, leaving the ruined works of art to fade into dust.

Further into the dark past of this place they came upon what appeared to be a supply room. Inside there was a pile of mechanical debris wound in a web of wires that ran like veins through the mess.

"Machine people," Emre' whispered. These were not the remains of humans. They had never had been living things, yet there was something disturbing in the sight of their smashed limbs and bodies; something troubling in the lifeless gazes of the old and broken mechanical faces that bore human expressions of helplessness and confusion. Their bodies were torn and savaged where holes had been punched and parts ripped from them.

"Raiders," Parker said.

The men started kicking through the wreckage, searching for anything that might still be useful. But there was nothing found, except brittle, lifeless, simulated flesh.

"This is a waste of time," Mak said. "Let's go back."

The others seemed to agree with this and started making for the hallway. But Emre' stopped them.

"Parker! Mak!" he yelled from a dark corner of the room.

Parker started to order Emre' to come, but then remembered that it was his explorations that had found this shelter. He followed the young man's beckon and found him standing in the dark rear of the room. "What now?" he asked.

Emre' had found another door. Engraved in its corroded silvery surface was an elaborate design. Armies were depicted, throngs of fighting men dressed in tight uniforms and strange bulky helmets, carrying rifles tipped with savage looking spears. The soldiers were headed into battle as flying craft moved through the silvery metal sky. Explosions were coarsely outlined behind the fighting, many of whom had been rendered in the throes of death.

Emre' struggled with the words scripted beneath the engraving. "Sim.. simper... fideee…" But, once again, the words made no sense. "It is more nonsense writing, Parker."

Parker nodded. "Well, Let's see what's inside," he suggested. But there was no knob or handle to grasp, or even a keyhole to jiggle. The door seemed like it could lead to a room that might hold something valuable, so they went to work on it with all their might. They grunted and pushed and smashed against it, swearing in frustration when it would not budge. Even Mak's massive weight seemed to have no effect.

"This is pointless," Parker realized, after their struggle had raised a sweat. So they returned, empty handed, to the large hall where they had made camp. There they resigned themselves to waiting for the boy to awaken. Then they could get back on the path.

**9**

The sound of laughter tugged at the edge of his slumber. It was an odd sound. One he'd not heard in a long time, and never in such abandon. Slowly, his senses awakened. Uncle's bad smell was gone now. The room was filled with the scent of sweat, and musky, wet furs; of smoke and burning oils, and ...

_Food! _

Daniel rose quickly. His head spun from the effort, but the aroma of meat made his stomach twist and moan.

Across the room, gathered in a circle around a flame burning at the edge of a bowl that sizzled with the sound of burning meat, sat the man who had come into the study. There were others with him, ones Daniel had not seen before. And women! Women were with them! Daniel remembered one of them, the big dark one. He remembered that she'd come to him in the night, and given him something to drink. But he had thought that was just a dream.

The strange, road-worn people talked amongst themselves, laughing and making exaggerated gestures at one another as they spoke. Daniel dared not even breathe. He had never been so close to Roamers. Uncle had warned him about their kind.

And where was Doll?

"Maybe we could sell her at one of the tower towns, right?" Coco suggested. "I am sure we could get something good for her."

"Tower towns!" Emre' scoffed. "Raiders run them all. They'd just kill us, take her and our women."

"I ain't afraid of no dung-biting pirates!" Otter trumpeted, holding his chin high.

"That's cause you never had to fight no damn pirates, boy," Mak grumbled.

"Did too!" Bosche blurted, coming to Otter's defense. "I saw him fight back in South City. Three of 'em. By himself! He was making a trade for fur when…" The young man was silenced by an impatient glance from Otter, who knew what was coming.

But Otter's warning came too late. Mak grunted and tossed off his fur, revealing his hefty, tattooed frame. The others moaned and placed their heads in their hands.

"Thanks, Bosche" Rennie said and fell back, covering his eyes.

"Here we go again," Emre' sighed.

"Got any of these?" Mak laughed, running his finger along one of the savage scars that lined his heavy torso. The old wound was punctuated by the line of a tattoo that went on to form the face of a dragon on his chest. "Or any of these?" he inquired, turning to display older scars, the stories of which they'd all heard numerous times.

"No," Otter admitted casually. "Because I never get hit." All of them laughed but Mak, who only grumbled, and flexed a few more poses before he sat back down.

"Then in the Basin," Coco said, ignoring Mak and going back to his idea. "We could trade her for something there, right?"

Ish waved the thought off. "We won't need anything in the Basin. We should just take her battery now and keep it, in case we find a wagon or something."

Rosa glanced across the room and cleared her throat. "Maybe we won't talk about this right now" she said cryptically. The others followed her gaze. A little blonde head was peeking out from the gathering of furs in the corner. The boy's eyes scanned them suspiciously.

They stared back at the boy, and there was a silence for moments wherein only the portion of food they'd left him could be heard sizzling in the bowl.

Who were they, Daniel wondered, these strange and ragged looking people? One was dark, another light; one fat, another thin; so different from each other, they were, yet somehow the same. What had brought them here and what would they do with him?

And who was he, they all wondered, this tangled matt of blonde hair that peeked from the bundle of furs, this pale little man who had fearlessly attacked the biggest among them to defend his Machine?

"Boy!" Parker said enthusiastically, breaking the silence. "You are back from your dreams! Come here! Eat with us." But the boy didn't move. When he finally opened his mouth to speak, only a gruff little bark erupted. The Tribe laughed as the boy grimaced and cleared his throat.

"My _name_ is Daniel," he said.

Parker looked at the Tribe, each in turn, his eyes widening as he looked back at the boy. Daniel felt a moment's hesitation as he absorbed the big man's unreadable expression. Then Parker broke out in laughter, slapping his hands against his legs. The others did the same and Daniel looked on, puzzled at the strength of their humor. Uncle had never laughed like that, and Doll, not at all.

"Yes, you told me your name yesterday!" Parker said as the laughter subsided. "And I am Parker, remember?" He patted a bundle of fur next to him. "Come. Sit. Eat."

"Where's Doll?" Daniel asked, his eyes darting through the room suspiciously.

The nomads didn't speak but their heads turned in unison towards the dark corner of the room where the Machine sat quietly. Daniel followed their gaze and made out the folds of a white dress in the gloom.

"Doll!" he called, and struggled to rise. But his head spun with the effort, and he fell back into the blankets.

"Easy, little one," Rosa said, rising and moving quickly to the boy's side. "You have been sick." She helped the boy up and wrapped his thin frame in a blanket.

"I am _Daniel_, not _little one_," he corrected Rosa as she assisted him across the room. Rosa didn't respond to the boy's challenge, but she fixed Ish with a knowing glance. The men snickered but were shushed by Ish. There had apparently been no women around to teach him his propers.

He would learn.

Doll stood and smiled as they approached. Daniel spoke soft words that The Tribe could not make out as he inspected her, feeling her arms and legs and torso, running his hands over hers to look for cracks in the flesh or damage to the fingers. He glanced over his shoulder at the people who were now gathering around him, watching his actions curiously. Then he reached up and moved his hands along the Machine's hairline. The robot bent slightly to allow this inspection.

"She's ok," Daniel said with a satisfied sigh. Then he turned to face the silent onlookers. "I appreciate your good treatment of her," he said. No one responded. The woman with the fiery hair made a face that Daniel could not read.

"Your Machine. She is very… nice! So real!" Rosa said, conversationally. "She is special to you?"

"Doll is special to everybody," he replied quickly. The woman's expression was hesitant, but her voice was soft. The huge men, however, were even more intimidating while standing, and Daniel was put off for a moment. But Uncle had taught him about the danger of fear. He wet his lips nervously as he gazed on his captors. "You have to be careful with her," he said finally when he had regained his nerve. The men exchanged unreadable glances.

What kind of boy was this, they thought, this little pale thing who addressed the hunters of the Tribe as if talking to a gathering of children.

Daniel was encouraged by their silence, and thrust a finger to the air to punctuate his words. "She has a rare and specialized function, and it is impossible to replace her," he explained, pushing up his chin to hide his intimidation.

The large men whispered to one another. Then one of them stepped from the group. The others parted to let him pass, curious smiles on their faces. Daniel watched the man cautiously. His near naked body was tight and muscled. His face was light like Daniel's, but long dark hair ran down over his shoulders and back. He stepped slowly towards Daniel, crouching low, his face set in a menacing grimace.

"_BOO_!" Otter yelled, suddenly, sending the boy reeling backwards, landing his weight against the Machine and knocking her into a sitting position on the floor. The Tribe broke into laughter. Daniel looked up, perplexed.

"Otter! Leave him alone!" Rosa scolded, punching the laughing man away and helping Daniel to his feet.

"I just want to see if his pouch is as big as his mouth," Otter said. He returned to his bedding and tossed himself into his furs.

But Emre' was suddenly serious. "We've no time for playing with children," he said. "He can walk now. We can leave in the morning."

"There is time yet," Ish replied. "We can let the boy rest for another day.

Emre' rounded on her. "And what of the storm?" he asked quickly. "What if we get stuck in this place?"

"The storm is passed, Emre,'" Parker said. But Emre' wasn't listening.

"This is crazy. You are leading us to nowhere. To death! You are old and stu…" he stopped. He had gone too far. Parker's face grew grim. Tomas moved quickly in between the two as the rest of the Tribe stepped away.

"This will do nothing to solve our problems!" Tomas said, pressing his palms out towards the men on either side of him. Parker stopped and regarded Tomas quietly. There was an uncomfortable silence as the two gazed at each other.

'Not now,' Tomas mouthed silently to Parker.

"Where is Uncle?" Daniel asked in the midst of the confrontation. All eyes were on the boy again. Did he not know?

Rosa posed a silent question to Ish. The woman shrugged back.

"Your Uncle is in the shadows, now," Ish responded simply.

"Shadows?" Daniel pondered the word. "Where is that?"

"Your Uncle is dead, " Emre' said flatly, and laid back into his bedding.

Rosa threw up her arms and hissed at Emre'. She moved to embrace the boy, but he wriggled out of her grasp, confused at her actions.

"Where is he?" Daniel commanded, his small face pinched in suspicion and anger. "What did you do with Uncle?"

"Your Uncle is gone now," Rosa explained softly, disturbed by the boy's lack of understanding.

"He is off to the Shadows, boy," Ish added quickly. "He sleeps there now."

"Don't call me that!" Daniel yelled. Who did these Roamers think they were? "You can't come in here and change everything! Our things are ok the way they are!" he bellowed, frustrated at the curious frowns he was receiving. "I want to see Uncle now!" he commanded. "Where is 'the shadows'? Take me there!"

Emre' snickered. "Stay with us and you'll get there soon enough," he said, and immediately felt Parker's eyes on him. He returned the glare for a moment before turning away.

"Ignore him, Daniel," Ish said, waving Emre off. She went to the boy's side and glared at the men until they walked away. She winked at Rosa and Malin and the women went to prepare for the night.

When the others were occupied elsewhere, Ish knelt beside Daniel and wrapped her arm around his shoulder. "Did you have anyone else here with you?" she asked.

"Just Uncle… and Doll," the boy replied, twisting in the big woman's embrace. He wasn't comfortable so close, but afraid to tell her so.

"All this time of your life? Just you and your Uncle and the Machine?"

Daniel nodded slowly. Was there something wrong?

Ish understood now, and continued slowly. "Daniel, your Uncle is…"

"Why is he _my_ Uncle?" Daniel barked. "He is just _Uncle._"

"He is of your blood, right? Of your family?" Ish asked. But the boy just screwed up his face. Did he even know what family was?

"Daniel, did your … did Uncle tell you of 'dying'? Of The Shadows?" she asked. The boy shook his head. "Daniel," she continued slowly, "Uncle was not sleeping. He is… no more. He is over, Daniel. Dead. When people are dead, they leave their body behind like an old set of boots they've outgrown, and they fly to the Shadows to stay for the rest of time."

Daniel squinted as he digested the woman's words. They were absurd, weren't they? Why hadn't Uncle told him of this 'dying'?

"He's not coming back?" he asked, cautiously.

The big woman shook her head, waiting for the inevitable reaction.

"_Never?" _

Ish smiled gently and shook her head again. "But he will be OK in the Shadows. It is safe there and he can rest for all of time," she said.

Daniel stared blankly at Ish. Uncle was gone? He had _ended_? This thought shifted uncomfortably in his head. Slowly, an unfamiliar pain welled up from his chest and began to consume him from inside. He pulled away from Ish and sat on the floor next to Doll. Uncle was gone? What now about Doll? What now about _him?_ He grasped Doll's arm tightly against his chest and folded his head down. Then the tears began to flow. They continued for some time, as Daniel finally understood that things had changed completely, more than he'd ever imagined possible.

**10**

_The boy is making the crying sounds, again. The sounds he had made when he'd been small, clinging to her dress, his arms reaching up at her. To Doll it is only moments ago. The passage of years means nothing to her. She does not measure them as those around her do, those whose lives are regulated by their numbers. She feels the boy's warmth against her, feels him cradling her arm and his small body rocking as his emotions release. Doll listens to the soft sounds, not understanding their meaning. She is now, as she was ever, uncomprehending of their purpose._

_Her fingers flutter in an automatic response to this confusion._

**11**

The next morning arrived without their notice. So used to the sun's rays awakening them, the Tribe had slept on, in the dark of the ancient museum. Rennie had been responsible for the final watch, but in the warmth of the room the young man had succumbed to sleep long before the sun rose. Parker was not very understanding when he finally awoke, and Rennie would have to gain his trust before he would, again, be handed the responsibilities of the watch and the benefits they entitled.

The meal was prepared and the Tribe ate quietly, watching their newest member quickly devour his ration. Ish slowed him a few times and the boy responded with an agitated expression before complying with her command.

Their initial curiosity about Doll was now replaced with anxious glances at Daniel. There was nothing they could do until the boy was ready to travel. It would do no good to save him from starvation only to risk loosing him to the cold.

As the day passed, there were some earnest attempts at banter and Otter played the clown more than once to try and keep the conversation going. But it was usually silence that took precedence, broken occasionally by a gust of wind against the windows or a tiny cough from Daniel.

Besides Ish and Rosa, who would occasionally attempt to comfort him, no one said anything to the boy. Their resentments with Parker's decision remained unspoken, tucked away with the fatigue of weary days on the path. Some of them were comforted by the little time they had to rest, although all were concerned about the road ahead.

"Hey boy, what is this place?" Otter asked when another tense silence had taken the room, and his provoking was doing no good.

Daniel lifted his face from behind the blanket where Ish had wrapped him tightly. His eyes were red but the tears had finally stopped. He tried to put Uncle out of his mind and focus on Otter's question. "This is the Hall of Antiquity," he replied slowly.

"And what is that?" asked Malin. Daniel stared at her for moments before he answered.

"It's a place where precious things are stored and cared for," he explained, repeating what he'd been taught by Uncle so long ago.

Coco snorted, "So why didn't you store any _food_ then? That is precious things, right?"

"Coco!" Rosa said shushing the man. Coco looked away.

"He is only playing," said Tomas. "The boy knows that."

"He is not familiar with strangers, Tomas," Rosa suggested.

"We did store adequate food supplies," Daniel explained, "we used to get them from the old places in the city, but they ran out and then Uncle and me went to find more. But he got sick and… " He stopped and cleared his throat, but said no more.

Emre' chimed in, changing the subject. "There is a room in the back of the building," he said. "We cannot open it. What is there?"

Daniel was quiet as his mind went back to the issue of what Ish had said about Uncle. "I don't know what's there," he replied, finally. "You have to know the code to get in," he explained. "It's some words Uncle never told me."

"Those words written on the door?" Emre' asked.

Daniel shrugged.

"What do the words on the door mean?" Parker inquired.

The boy thought hard. What had Uncle said? It was so long ago he could barely remember. "I think they mean 'always fighting'," he explained.

**12**

By the time afternoon arrived, Daniel was beginning to feel stronger. This seemed to break the tension between the Roamers, and by the time the boy was feeling well enough to walk on his own, laughter was breaking out among them as they spoke of things unfamiliar to Daniel. The boy watched their interactions carefully; entranced by their rough behavior, the way they challenged and teased one another.

The man called Emre' fell into a yelling match with the one called Coco, and at the insistence of Parker the two were obliged to go into the snow outside and settle their differences. Ish told Daniel to stay where he was, to keep warm so he could get better. So he could not see outside as the men struggled with one another. But through the door, he heard the exchange of heated words, words he had never heard before. Then he heard scuffling, and the taunts and laughter of the men. When the nomads came back inside, the two men were sweaty, scratched and bruised. But they were grinning and clinging to one another other around the shoulders. They sat heavily onto the floor and the women called Rosa and Malin began to rub their backs and tend to the wounds they had caused each other.

Songs broke out after the fight, and soon it seemed that the men's differences had been completely forgotten.

As the night fell, Daniel's fear faded and he sat among the men of the Tribe, pondering their laughter and challenging, the way they kicked and punched each other as they spoke. Such odd behavior. Why the hitting and yelling? Were their ears bad? And what was so funny?

Their stories were filled with resurrected cities of great towers, like the ones in the pictures the raiders had ruined, and the empty ones he had seen when Uncle had taken him scavenging so long ago. But the towers these men spoke of were alive, filled with people, their animals and their things. They spoke of dense forests where large scary beasts roamed freely, eating everything they could find. "Especially children!" Otter pointed out loudly, fixing Daniel with a potent gaze. But they all laughed at this and Rosa scolded him again.

They spoke of places where the water had frozen solid and covered the horizon like glass, so that the sun shone off the ice, sparkling like a rainbow. They spoke strange, unbelievable tales of hunting huge cats and bears, and fighting other nomads and raiders.

Daniel noticed the way the women shook their heads and rolled their eyes as the men grew louder and louder, seeming to compete with one another about who would be next to speak. The younger men, the quiet thoughtful one called Rennie and the thin, worried looking one called Bosche' were constantly frustrated in this competition and sat with their heads in their hands, frowning at their older counterparts. The women joined in, too, jeering and challenging the men's improbable stories.

In time Daniel closed his eyes and let his mind drift, afloat on the sounds of the laughing, teasing people. Their voices comforted him. Their presence made him feel safe, secure, like he had felt when Uncle had been here. He rolled tightly into his fur and for the first time in his short life was lulled to sleep by the calming sounds of family.

**13**

The morning came quickly. They rose as one and began to prepare for the path. The boy was ready. It was time. As they packed, the Machine woman watched them with her usual detached curiosity. Parker noticed the Machine's stare and wondered how it would fare on the arduous journey. Would its frame give out, its legs collapse? It did look rather frail. But it was the boy's Machine and they would not discard it. It would have to travel as long as it could.

When Daniel awoke he saw the Tribe's belongings tightly packed and piled in the center of the room. He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"Time to wake, little one," Ish said sharply, as she packed the sled. "There is nothing left for you here." The woman turned and called out. "Malin, dress this boy!"

Daniel didn't have time to correct Ish about his name before she dashed off to see to other things. Malin came to him with a bundle of clothing in her arms.

"Well, let's see what fits," she said, and yanked him from his bedding. She was not as gentle as Rosa or Ish and Daniel's complaints did little to affect her disposition.

In a short time, Daniel was draped in thick cloth. His head was wrapped tightly and he was standing in boots too big for his feet. Malin had stuffed tufts of fur into the footwear so it would conform to his size. He felt like he was being crammed into a huge bag made of fur. Malin stood back and appraised him. She crossed her arms and let out a little breathy sigh. "That'll have to do, for now," she said.

Otter and Bosche' passed by, and stopped to look Daniel over. Smirks formed at the corners of their mouths and Malin sneered. "Don't say a word," she warned them.

"What?" Daniel asked, feeling suddenly awkward under the men's gaze.

"Nothing! Nothing, little man," Otter said with a shrug. "You look fine! Just fine." The two walked away, snickers trailing behind them.

"My name is not little man!" Daniel called after them. He looked at Malin with an angry question in his eyes.

"Don't worry about those fools, Daniel," she said, leaning over to tighten the straps around his waist. "You'll be warm and dry and that is all that is important for now."

Parker was suddenly, moving among the Tribe. The man was a giant, dressed in the thick coats in which Daniel had first seen him. He patted each person on the shoulder and said something quietly before passing on to the next. Finally he came to stand by Malin, dwarfing her. He rubbed her shoulder and said her name. She gazed up at him. Parker said nothing more, but Daniel sensed some communication between them, something in Parker's eyes that he could not interpret. The two locked gazes a moment longer, and then Parker turned to him.

The big man put his hands on his hips and scrutinized Daniel. He knelt and tugged at the boy's makeshift travel-wear, grunting in satisfaction. When he was finished with his inspection, he placed his large hands on Daniel's shoulders and caught the boy's eyes. Parker's authority shone clear in that gaze and, in that instant, Daniel understood the dynamics of the man's relationship with the others. He was to them as Uncle had been to him. Daniel felt for the first time that he was now part of something bigger then he, that he was becoming one of them.

The Chief leaned close to the Tribe's newest member and spoke softly. "You will travel under the care of Rosa and Malin. They will prepare your portions and, over the days, make a cloak and boots more… suitable for you." A touch of humor came into Parker's eyes as he said this. But the look was gone quickly, replaced by a stern expression.

"Our way is not an easy one, boy. You are young and unprepared for the path but we can wait no longer. There will be moments when you will cry from weariness and I know you will always think of your home. But you have been left in our care, and we roam. So must you."

Daniel thought about reminding the man of his name. Uncle had told him to never let anyone speak to him like a child. But he immediately knew this was not the time for such corrections. As if to confirm this thought, Parker squeezed his shoulder tightly. Daniel listened obediently.

"You will do as you are told, and I will not tolerate any argument from you. Never again remind me of your name, boy, and I will not hear you debate this with the others. It is our way, Daniel. You are young and you cannot just demand respect. Like us, you will earn it or it will _not_ be given." Parker let the words sink in. Then he rose.

"Your Machine will continue with us for as long as it can, or as long as you want her," he said. "Since it is yours we will not damage it or try to take parts. But you will be expected to tend to it, and if it should fail along the path, or slow us, it will be left behind."

Then the man walked away quickly, issuing commands and moving the packs out the door.

Daniel was dumbstruck by Parker's words. The magnitude of what was happening finally hit him. He had never been farther then the old rusted towers at the base of the hills, and it had only taken he and Uncle half a day to travel that far. Now he was about to embark on a venture that would last longer than he could imagine.

"Doll!" He called, snapping out of his worries and to his duty. Doll was still sitting patiently in the corner where Ish had ordered her days ago. Daniel knew she would sit there until her power set to stand-by and rendered her unconscious. Left on her own, Doll would just sit there and eventually deteriorate in the harsh weather. He could not let that happen. Parker's assignment had been unnecessary, for Daniel had promised long ago that he would never abandon her.

"We have to leave, Doll," Daniel said, surprised by the sudden emotion in his voice. "You have to get up now," he commanded, and took her by the arm.

The Machine woman rose gracefully at Daniel's beckon. Its calm expression gave no indication that it understood the gravity of what was occurring.

"Things have changed now, Doll," Daniel said as he fought back a tear. "Things have changed… forever."

**14**

Outside, the morning sun had finally begun to warm the ground. The snow from the storm was melting away slowly. But if another storm was coming, none could tell. Such was the chaos of the weather.

The Tribe was ready to go, waiting only for Parker, Ish and Tomas, who were speaking quietly at the edge of the enclosure. After a moment, Ish came to Daniel who stood with to his Machine.

"There is something we must do, now," she said, and took his hand. She gestured for the others to follow and led them to a mound of frozen earth.

"Uncle has moved on, Daniel, and so must you," Ish said. "It is time for you to say goodbye and take your place with us."

Daniel was perplexed by this idea. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Tell us about him, and then let him be forgotten." Ish said.

Daniel was confused as the Tribe gathered around him, watching with solemn eyes. They were anxious to leave but knew the importance of this moment. "He cannot wait forever," Otter joked, but Ish shushed him. This was not the time of place for jokes.

"Remember him, Daniel," Rosa explained. "Tell us what he meant to you."

After a hesitation, Daniel stepped forward and eyed the silent mound. Uncle slept there? They wanted him to say things that he remembered about Uncle? He did not understand this. He became lost in conflicting and unfamiliar emotions as he thought back, back to the time when life had been simple, when life had been certain and predictable. He thought about the reading and writing lessons he had been given, until the time Uncle had started pacing the grounds, reciting, to no one, strange speeches that would last into the deep hours. He remembered the times before the wild men had come and destroyed the place, and how Uncle had cared for him and taught him to hunt and to wash and cook.

The words finally came. "Uncle told me how to do everything I know, and..." Daniel stopped, looking up to Ish to see if this was the right thing to say. But there was no confirmation in the woman's eyes. Only patience. He continued.

"And… he showed me the places to get food and how to take care of Doll and the museum and how the seasons changed. He taught me the letters and the words and how to read the words…" he stopped again. This was not what he should be saying. Somehow he knew that. He paused, reflecting on his life. Then the strange emotions welled in him again and his words came quickly and painfully.

"Uncle was my friend and I didn't know how to do things when you are not around." Tears formed in his eyes and flowed over his face, "You were always with me and always took care of me and Doll and … I'll always want to see your face and talk with you again."

He stopped then, and wiped the wetness from his face. He didn't know why, but he wanted to keep this feeling secret from the others. He did not want them looking on him when the tears came. Uncle had called them the 'baby talk' and had insisted that the time for baby talk in the world was over.

The tears subsided and, when Daniel looked up again, the Tribe was smiling warmly, and nodding their heads.

"It is time," Parker said.

And with that statement the Tribe unceremoniously began their trek. They passed through the enclosure and hoisted up their packs. Otter and Bosche wrapped slings around their shoulders. It was their turn to pull the sleds. In minutes they were out on the path, headed up the hillside towards the cluster of buildings they had seen before the boomer had hit, before Emre' had found the museum and the boy.

As they began their slow climb, Daniel stopped and looked back at the museum one last time. Something he had never felt before played inside his mind and his heart. As he gazed back at the quiet buildings, a final tear broke and rolled over his face.

"Goodbye," he whispered. The sound was lost on the chilled breeze. He turned and caught up with his new family.

**15**

_For Doll there is only the eternal moment. It spans the length of her accessible recollection and she does not presume what lies beyond. It is not her concern._

_Outside of the moment, there is only a need that drives her, an implanted passion that would never let her sleep, even if so human an escape, and its resultant dreams, were part of her programming._

_They are not._

_Nor is finality._

_She has seen a thousand 'goodbyes' and each have meant the same. The restless, moving people that surrounded her and cleared her path through the world, would pass on, and new faces, bearing the same coded signals, those beyond her understanding, would take their place. The journey would continue._

_Now she is saying goodbye again, though still not understanding its substance. She was here, and now she will be elsewhere. That is all._

_It means nothing to her that thirty long years have passed in the ancient and abused Hall of Antiquities, which was her home, and home to the man who watched over her. He had come into her life, like those before him, and has passed like them too. The boy who came to live with them, just a fraction of time ago in the scheme of things, has grown and now this responsibility has been passed on to him. But Doll knows no sense of appreciation, nor feels gratitude in her heart._

_She has none._

_So goodbye does not, cannot affect her._

_As the museum slowly diminishes behind them, its old and crumbling walls fading in the gathering haze of distance, its labyrinth of forgotten histories and mysteries doomed to dust and withering, her only thought is, as always, of her own want and wanting._


	3. Chapter 3

**The Porcelain Doll  
**

**Chapter III**

**1**

The Tribe journeyed through the flatlands, a small procession of lingering humanity and one very special artifact moving slowly over the rocky earth, beneath unpredictable skies, headed for a place some of them only knew from children's tales. They passed through barren plains, skirting the areas where rising water levels made travel impossible, then over the shoulders of the foothills and into the cold Highlands.

The weather was in their favor, though there were nights when ice fell, and they had to seek refuge in whatever old buildings they might chance upon. But the higher they rose, the less they found shelter from the sudden storms. Fortunately, those nights were few.

During the first week of their quest, Daniel had been prone to whining and throwing tantrums during the days' weary travel. The ceaseless walking and climbing had taken its toll on his small body and, more than once, the Tribe had waited as Rosa or Malin tended to his complaints. They would massage his swollen feet and re-stuff his oversized boots. When this did not work, the men would take turns carrying the boy on their backs.

But as the journey went on, Daniel's complaints diminished and he needed less coddling. Their path was still difficult, the earth was as rocky as ever, and cold breezes still whipped at them as they traveled. But this was all new to Daniel and even in this difficulty he became entranced by the world around him.

As they rose into the mountains, the boy was exposed to so vast an expanse of land beneath him that he was in constant awe of the simple breadth of the horizon; the hills that rolled out behind them, the massive peaks before, their snowy white heads barely discernable in the distance. Even the fresh smell of the air suggested unknown vistas. It seemed inconceivable to him that the land could continue for so far. Uncle had never explained this. Indeed, the farther they traveled, the more it seemed that Uncle had explained very little. This thought disturbed Daniel, so he pushed it aside.

In time his legs became sturdy and, although some of the men had grown to enjoy the task of carrying the precocious scamp, this duty was no longer necessary. Daniel's body grew strong, and his skin tanned during those days when the weather allowed the Tribe to travel uncloaked. His whining ceased and he acclimated to life on the path, although no one could ever grow fully accustomed to it.

In the night the Tribe would huddle around the fire, sharing tales of the road and of their plights in the South Cities. They spoke of fights and hunts and there seemed to be a more than sufficient supply of wild characters in their past to keep their stories fresh. And, when mere history was not sufficiently entertaining, embellishments were always in order. More than once the Tribe had laughed with incredulity while Parker or Mak embarked on some improbable story. Tomas, also a senior man, had his own versions of their tales, but tended to keep his silence, smiling knowingly and shaking his head when something the other men said amused him.

On warm nights when some of the sweet ferment had been ingested, the women would dance for the men. Their sweaty bodies glistened in the firelight as they slowly disrobed. The men hooted and competed for the women's attention. Sometimes they would fight one another, although these fights were mostly drunken posturing and no one was hurt. On other nights they would dance alongside the disrobing women, singing strange rhythmic chants deep into the night.

Daniel didn't understand these dances at first, but as the night grew and the Tribe began to huddle with one another, the significance of the women's gyrating movements became clear. At these times Daniel would wrap himself in a fur and cuddle with Doll, whose body was as warm and soft as any real woman, but could never be used for those purposes. Uncle had explained that long ago.

**2**

_She can see easily across that invisible gulf called 'time' by these mortals who struggle along the path with her. Across this gulf she can see a history that they will never know, a history that words are insufficient to express. The darkened ruins they pass during the day, the withered remains of civilization, are shadowed by the grim sky and the age that rests upon their faces. They were once aglow, teeming with the mass of humanity. Long ago she had been housed in such buildings, long before the wane of civilization, long before her new family had even been born._

_She resides in these recollections as she walks. She does not feel the chill of the world, nor has the ceaseless travel taken a toll on her. One step or a million is the same, as long as there is sufficient light from which she can take nourishment. She has followed along with the group of struggling Humans, immune to the aches and pains that all but Daniel have learned to tolerate. She is oblivious to the anxiety that grows on them as they observe the grey storm heads looming on the horizon beyond. She is not oblivious, however, to the looks she receives, those seemingly casual glances that communicate the resentment called 'jealousy'._

_In the night, as they take refuge from the cold in their fires and furs, and refuge from their insecurities in banter, she is not invited among them. She sits at the edge of the firelight and observes their camaraderie and bickering, forever alien to these matters. It is only Daniel who comes to sit by her, to check her for any sign of damage or malfunction. There has never been any, and the boy does not find any now. But this routine has been established since he was a small child and will most likely continue until she is passed into another's concern._

_Another night is passing into gloom. The child sleeps fitfully beside her as the others find comfort and warmth in each other's bodies. Doll cannot sleep, and instead gazes out into the darkness. Her hands are doing a continual dance as she plays back images of special gatherings, some of them centuries past, where she was the center of warmth for the crowd. _

_The sound flowed out from her mind, onto the keys and over the throng beyond the lights of the stage, from where the love of the audience flowed back to her. The sound of their adoration is recorded forever in particles of her memory smaller than the space between the countless moments she has lived through. Such is the genius of her design; that no conscious moment passed could ever fade in time, even if she should wish it so. _

_A distant flash of light and the eventual rumble it spawned, break her from this reverie. But it interests her for only a fraction of time, nanoseconds, as she assesses any potential threat it may contain. She can find none in her database, so she ignores any further sounds from the sky and returns again to moments encoded in a virtual world where only she can dwell._

**3**

Parker did not ignore the distant crack of thunder, or the low groan of the sky. He gave the flashes of light his rapt attention as he sat in his fur, wrapped tightly against the night. The storm was some ways off, yet he could feel its chilled breath faintly on his face. It did not seem headed in their direction, but still he listened patiently as the others slept or shared their bodies. There was an occasional groan from those who had paired off for the night, but otherwise it was only the crackle of flame and the rumble from the horizon that kept him company.

He watched as the threat moved slowly to the west and then south, its huge lumbering head sparking intermittently to life on the horizon, then to darkness again. Soon it was quiet. He breathed easier and relaxed against a rock. Chance had smiled on them again, at least for the time being.

"Parker?" came a light voice from behind him.

The man turned to see Daniel standing nearby. The boy was wrapped in his furry blanket, rubbing his sleepy eyes.

"Daniel, why are you awake?" he asked. "You need sleep or you will slow us again."

Daniel made a pained expression, the one that children intuitively know adults cannot refuse. Parker was defenseless against it.

"Damn to you, boy," he whispered with a chuckle. "Come here" he said in surrender, opening his blanket for the boy to sit. Daniel slipped beside the man, in between the folds of the heavy animal hide. "What is it?" Parker grumbled.

Daniel took a moment to respond. "What do you think happened to the people who lived in the old buildings?" he said. "Why is everybody dead now?"

Parker shifted uncomfortably. Things were dark enough as it was without going into the story of the Big Fight and the shadow that had filled the sky.

"Can't this wait until tomorrow?" he asked.

The boy said nothing. Together they looked up at the stars that were finally breaking from behind the opaque haze. In time, a vast panorama of sparkling points of light filled the heavens.

Eventually Parker took a deep breath, pronouncing his surrender. "Men have good and bad sides, Daniel," he explained. "It has always been that way. Sometimes when men do good, they do bad at the same time. Sometimes they don't even know it.

"They have been fighting since before they built the big cities. Sometimes fights are good… I mean, fights can be for a good reason. But mostly fights are for nothing but to fight. Just to make your mark." Parker shifted so that he was looking at the boy. Deep within his suppressed memories, another set of innocent eyes gazed up at him. He fought back an undesired emotion and continued.

"My father told me that, a long time ago, people built great torches to shoot at each other. The torches could destroy entire cities and fill the sky with fire. At first men only used them to scare one another, but…" he looked back out on the vista above "but one day something happened, an accident. Someone shot one of the torches, and then…" He shrugged. "It went crazy. There was fire everywhere…so many places. And a shadow came into the sky. It was there a long time. I think it made the freeze." Parker fell quiet his face pensive. Daniel waited patiently.

"I don't know why they did it, Daniel," Parker continued. "I cannot tell you these things. It was long, long ago. Before my father's, father's father. There are those who can read the letters. They can tell you about these things. But not me."

Daniel nodded. "Uncle knew about it, I think. He once said something about 'armed conflicts'," the boy offered, in his serious fashion. "He said there was a 'volley of warheads' and it 'wreaked havoc on society'. I heard him talking to the empty room at night, before he… before he went to the Shadows."

Parker shrugged. "Conflict? Havoc? Very small words when you think of what happened to the world."

Daniel pinched his chin, nodding slowly. Parker chuckled at the strangely adult gesture. "So, are you finished with your questions now?" he asked.

Daniel looked up at the man. "Have you always been this way?"

Parker curled an eyebrow at the boy. "What way?"

"You know… on the road. Walking all the time."

Parker shrugged. "Not always," he answered, smiling, remembering easier times. "When I was a boy we stayed in the east by the big waters called Atlantic. We kept animals and I had a dog back then." His face brightened in the recollection, and he smiled down at Daniel. "You know dogs?"

Daniel shook his head.

Parker grunted. "Too bad. They are good friends. We even had an old wagon that worked. But that was so long ago." The man stopped a moment, letting the memory play inside his mind's eye. "Then the water started to rise again and the big ice wall was getting closer. Our animals ate from bad grasses and caught the rot. Their meat was no good anymore. So we went to the South Cities and…" he stopped and tossed a scrap of wood in the fire. "…and we stayed there. We had to learn a new way. We made a place in one of the old towers and Mother made medicines from plants. She traded them for coins and meat. Father learned the hunt and joined some trappers. When I was past my bloom he showed me the hunt too." Parker stopped then Daniel looked up at him.

"And?"

Parker glanced at the boy impatiently. But the innocent curiosity he saw in the young face made him pause. He sighed and tossed another scrap of wood on the fire.

"And then Father was made leader, and when he got too old, I took over the crew. There were twenty and seven of us then." Parker smiled at the memory. "We did the good hunt. There were pigs and horses and bears. Lots of game!" he laughed. Then his face grew serious. "But the freeze came and then raiders came with it, desperate men who have no rule to live by. You can see they were never shown their 'propers'. They have no respect and deserve none.

"They took over the tower towns and made taxes on everybody. They tried to tell us where to hunt and make us give them coin for trading our meat and furs." Parker grimaced as he spoke "But we fought them and…" he stopped himself with a laugh. "Well, you've heard all _those_ stories by now!"

Daniel smiled. Yes, various versions of the raider fights had already been repeated a few times around the fires at night.

Parker continued. "But finally it was too much. We had to fight all the time and the bad men just got badder. And there were more of them. Some of them knew how to fix the old weapons and it got too dangerous. So we left." A frown crossed his dark features. "Well, some of us left. Ten and two stayed in the south." He shook his head sadly. "Good men. We could use them now."

Daniel counted in his head. "That's not right," he said. Parker looked at him curiously.

"I mean the numbers don't match," Daniel explained. "You said there was twenty seven in the south and only twelve stayed. Where are the…" Daniel stopped when he saw the sudden shadow that crept into Parker's face.

The man's temper flared suddenly. With one strong arm he pushed Daniel up and slapped him soundly across the rear.

"Ow!" Daniel yelled, puzzled at the man's sudden anger.

"It's time for you to sleep, boy!" Parker scolded, "Go on now. We have far to travel tomorrow!"

The slap had been more insulting than painful, but Daniel's temper rose just the same. He knew better than to say anything, however. He glared at the man a moment and then rushed back to his place near Rosa. He slid between the warm blankets where he lay awake for a time, staring up at the sparkling sky. It took some time, but sleep finally stole him away from the concerns of the world, into a realm of restless dreams.

Parker's anger abated slowly. He forced away the images: the memories of still bodies under a calloused sky, of little frozen mounds of earth. These unwanted recollections had been sparked to life by the boy's inquiries, and Parker pressed them back, fighting the emotion that threatened to build inside. There was no time for these thoughts. There was duty. There was the path. He had responsibilities. He wiped a guilty tear from his face as he hummed a low chant his father had taught him. It was a warrior's song.

_I am mud and earth, wind and sky_

_My bones are rock and wood, _

_and you can never break me_

_I will shake the ground where you sleep,_

_if you should ever try_

_I am hard as earth, free as sky_

_And I will reap from the flesh of the world_

_what my honor has bestowed me_

In time Tomas came to take the watch, and Parker left to share the rest of the night with Ish. He rolled into the fur beside her, into the place where Tomas had just left. She responded sleepily at first, rolling away from his cautious probing. But soon her passions were re-ignited and they shared a precious moment of sensation. Afterwards they both fell into deep sleep, and dreams of warmer times and places.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Porcelain Doll**

**Chapter IV**

**1**

The next day Emre' found a shit.

The sun was shining brightly in a crystal blue sky. Its warming rays offset the chilly breezes that occasionally whipped around them, and the Tribe had taken off their heavy coats. They had passed through a sparkling green glade and found a rapidly flowing tributary of fresh snowmelt. They stopped there, for a time, and filled their bladder sacks and canteens. Emre' and Rennie had gone ahead of the rest, checking the path for signs of cats or game, or perhaps other Roamers. The others were preparing to set out after them, when Rennie suddenly came running back down the trail. He was sweated and holding his finger to his mouth for them to be quiet.

"Emre' found a shit, Parker. It's fresh," he whispered excitedly, when he was among them.

"Tracks?" Parker asked, keeping his voice low.

"A pig. Maybe two. Headed into the brush, up the hill. Emre is on it now."

Mak and Tomas dropped their packs immediately and wrested slings and quarrels from them.

"Shoulder your slings," Parker said, "Bring the spears and we'll trap them."

Rosa and Malin loosed the sled, which it had been their turn to struggle with, and the men took what they needed from it. Coco slipped the pack from his back and pulled an evil looking machete' from a sheath under his fur. "This will do," he smiled.

Otter was ready to go, but Bosche fidgeted uncertainly, not knowing if he was to be allowed on this chase. Parker considered the teenager as he yanked a long spear from the sled. He walked to the youth and narrowed his eyes. Bosche' pushed his chest up to show he was not daunted by the challenge. Parker nodded approvingly. "Get ready," he said, and Bosche' beamed triumphantly. He dropped his pack and grabbed a skewering stick from the sled.

"Big shit?" Parker asked over his shoulder as he freed his sling from the pack.

"Big and plenty," Rennie laughed.

"They're well fed, then," Mak grunted. "Should be good eating."

Daniel dropped his pack and looked expectantly at the men. "I want to go," he said, excitedly.

"No!" Ish ordered, and grabbed the boy by his shoulder. "The men cannot watch you and hunt at the same time."

"But I need to learn," Daniel complained, trying the pained expression that had worked so successfully on Parker. But Ish was not as easily affected by the look.

"Too dangerous," she said quickly.

Parker considered the boy for a moment. "Let him come, Ish, he needs to learn," he said. She turned on the man and glared. Parker held up his hand to ward off the argument. "He can run with Bosche'. He'll be OK."

Bosche whined a complaint, but was silenced by a snarl from Mak. "No time for arguments, boy!" the man said.

"Let's move!" Parker ordered, and they dashed off, following Rennie up the road and into the thick brush that lined the hillside.

Ish hesitated, still clinging to Daniel's shoulder. But after a moment, she relented.

"You stay close to Bosche'," she ordered sternly. Daniel jumped and hooted with excitement.

Bosche' struck the boy soundly on the shoulder. "The beasts will hear you," the teenager hissed. Daniel moaned and rubbed his arm, but made no complaint. "Stay by me," Bosche' ordered. "Move like this," he whispered crouching low, and dashing quickly after the others.

Daniel turned before he left. "Watch Doll," he reminded Ish. The woman nodded impatiently and watched the boy rush after Bosche'. Why had Parker let him come along? She imagined the boy limping back from the hunt, scarred and bloody. Or worse, being carried back after being gored by a wild pig. She tossed the image from her mind. To challenge Parker would have spoiled the spirit of the hunt and they needed the meat. She would have to make her complaints later. Rosa and Malin came to her side, and silently, the three women sent their blessings.

"Let's get the fire going," Ish said.

**2**

_There was a flurry of activity among the people. Doll was alerted by their excitement. She has seen people act this way before and it has always preceded trouble. She moved out of the way of the men as they rushed by, and disappeared into the thick bank of plants ahead. The boy left with them. She considers that, perhaps, this is his departure; that he is leaving her now to the care of these women. This is not such an alarming prospect to her. It has happened this way before._

_When the boy is gone, the big woman gazes at her for a moment, with a curious expression in her eyes. Is this sadness? Anger? Doll cannot tell. Then the woman leaves to tend to some other business._

_Quietly, Doll awaits the violence she is sure will follow. _

_It always has._

**3**

Daniel stayed as close to Bosche' as he could. It wasn't easy. The young hunter moved quickly on his muscular legs, looking over his shoulder to hiss that Daniel should catch up. Excitement rushed through Daniel's veins as he slipped through the brush, copying Bosche's crouching run.

He had never done anything like this with Uncle. When he was small they had lived off a simulator that created meals from condensed extracts, and later, after the machine had ceased to function, they survived on rations scavenged from the old buildings that lined the hills around the museum. Eventually, Uncle had brought home the meat of birds and burrowing things that had grown too old to flee. But this was new to Daniel, and although branches stung his face and arms as he dashed behind the older boy, he found himself caught up in the blood rush of the chase.

Bosche' raced to the cleft of the hill and then over, following the prints of the men and the disruptions they had caused in the brush. But when Daniel rounded the top of the hill, Bosche' was gone. He stopped abruptly and looked around. Nothing. It was silent. How could Bosche' have just disappeared? He started to call out, to let Bosche' know he had lost him. Then he yelped as something jumped out of the brush behind him and dragged him back into a tangle of thick bushes

"Shhh…" Bosche' whispered. He let go of Daniel. "Lookie. You see there?" He pointed ahead, to an opening in the brush.

Daniel's heart was still racing with surprise, but he followed the line of Bosche's gesture and saw, in a clearing across a deep ravine, two crawling shapes. They were pink with pale tufts of dark fur that sprouted from their backs. They appeared no larger than the burrowing things that Uncle had brought home to eat. But they were far away, and Daniel knew they must be much bigger.

"Pig," Bosche' whispered. "Enough meat to last all the way across the Highlands. If we can catch them, that is." Daniel turned an innocent look on the older boy. "They can be pretty fast," Bosche' explained.

There was a strange animal call from the brush ahead and Bosche' moved towards the sound. Daniel could make out Mak though the thick green brambles. The man whispered something to Bosche', and gestured to a point across the ravine and Bosche' dashed off in that direction. Mak noticed Daniel and winked. He reached into his waistband, slipped out a small blade and tossed it in the boy's direction. The blade landed in the bushes before him. Daniel retrieved it and slid back into his hiding place. Mak pointed to the ground and then to Daniel, signaling that he should stay where he was. Then the big hunter dashed off, moving with surprising grace for a man so huge.

Daniel crouched near the break in the brush. From here he could see the pigs clearly. The animals were strolling lazily up the far side of the ravine. They obviously didn't know the men were hunting them. How would they catch these things, he wondered. He waited, holding the blade in his hands, feeling its sharpness and weight. Slowly, he understood why Mak had given it to him, and wondered if he should have stayed with the women after all.

**4**

Parker had hidden in the thickets across the ravine. He rose to signal for the men behind him to stay put. He had hunted pig before. The wild ones were fast but they behaved predictably. He would move across the top of the hill, to the other side of the enclosure, and chase the pigs towards his men. He crouched low and moved silently through the brush, over the brambles and toward a clearing above the animals. The breeze would be at his back as he crossed over the hill. He just hoped it wouldn't suddenly change direction. He could not afford to wait, however. Aat any moment, the animals might sense the trap.

Mak stopped in the pit of the ravine and readied his spear. When Parker broke out above them, the pigs would start to run. Mak was now in the path they were most likely to flee. Otter and Rennie were hiding behind him, in the bushes along the places worn smooth by water flow. The pigs would probably use that natural trail should they get by Mak, or Coco, who was moving closer, crawling towards the game from beneath. Coco was a small man but an experienced hunter, and fast with his blade.

Emre' took his position in a lining of brush not far from where Mak and Coco were waiting. This was the first game they'd seen in a long time and he hoped it was not sick or rotted. He didn't like the way the pigs ambled so slowly. Surely they must have caught Parker's scent by now. He poised his spear and waited.

Bosche' slipped into the thicket behind Rennie, who was rocking back and forth from tension. Rennie turned and eyed his friend curiously. "Where's the kid?" he whispered.

Bosche' rolled his eyes and pointed over his shoulder. "In the bushes up behind."

Rennie shook his head. "Ish will sock your balls if he gets hurt."

But Bosche' just waved his hand dismissively. "Mak sent me here. And it's just a couple of old pigs. What could happen?"

Tomas was further up the hill, watching Parker get into position. This was a great place for the chase. He could see the men below, situated along the most likely places for the pigs to run, which were few. He looked over his shoulder and could see Daniel peeking through the bushes across the ravine. But Bosche' was nowhere near him. Ish would not be happy.

He turned his attention back to the pigs. They suddenly seemed agitated. Something was not right. Tomas sniffed the air. The breeze was dead, yet the pigs acted as if a scent had annoyed them. They seemed frightened, but undecided whether to flee or not. He pondered this for a moment and then saw what scared their game.

Parker moved into position, concealing himself in the brush at the lip of the ravine. When he dashed out of the trees, the pigs should head right for the trap. He peeked out of the brush and checked the men. He could make out the tip of Coco's head, and there was Mak waiting at the bottom of the pit. Just beyond Mak, he could see Rennie and Bosche'. Otter was crouching about 10 lengths away, and Emre' was just beyond him. They were all ready. He waved the signal, and prepared to make his move.

Then he saw Tomas. To his alarm the man was standing and waving. What the hell was he doing? He would alert the prey!

As if they'd heard his thoughts, the pigs suddenly turned and dashed back into the ravine. They were younger than he'd thought, and faster, and they were headed in the wrong direction! The pigs squealed as they fled, and sped back up the other side of the ravine. They'd completely missed the trap!

"Damn to you, Tomas!" Parker yelled, as he rose from of his hiding place. Below he saw the others scramble, giving chase to the pigs. But the fast-footed animals could not be caught that way. Parker watched their flight and quickly realized that something was wrong. If it had been he that alerted them, they should have turned and run directly into the trap. If Tomas had scared them, they should have run towards him, and he would have bagged at least one of them. Something else must have made them flee.

Then he saw Tomas break from the brush and start running in his direction. "Run, Parker," he yelled, waving his arms.

Parker heard a low, feral sound above him, and turned to see just what had spoiled their trap. His mouth fell open in awe of the creature that broke from the brush above him. He crouched into a fighting position as a massive cat growled from the crest of the hill. It was an old beast, as big as bear. Its golden flank was dirty and large tufts of fur were missing in places along its chest. But its teeth were all there. It bared them in a direct challenge. Its roar seemed to rumble the very earth.

Parker screamed back at the cat, to check his own fear. He was prepared to fight, but he these things did not like the difficult meals that men made. It was after the pigs. He backed off and signaled to the others to step away from the path the pigs had taken.

"Go on! Take them! Your meal is running away!" Parker yelled, waving his spear in the direction of the fleeing pigs. But the huge cat only glanced at the pigs distractedly, before it growled and narrowed its eyes on Parker. With a shock, the man realized that the aged predator was not concerned about the pigs; that it probably hadn't even known about them; that it must have been stalking him all along.

As if in confirmation of this, the great cat bared its savage fangs and pressed its huge body into a squat, in preparation for the attack.

"Man hunter!" Emre' yelled when he saw the huge animal preparing to leap on Parker. He rushed into the clearing, where his Chief was about to engage in a loosing battle. Mak and Coco dashed out in front of him, and the three younger men rush up behind. "Parker!" Emre' yelled, "Run!"

Tomas shot from the brush at the crest of the hill and raced across the side of the ravine as fast as he could manage without falling. He saw the others racing towards the fight and felt encouraged that their numbers might intimidate the old cat. The men started screaming as they made their attack, hoping the sound of their approach might scare the beast off.

Daniel couldn't find his breath. He had never seen such an animal as the giant that crawled out of the brush above Parker. Even from this distance, he could feel the vibration of the creature's roar. He saw the others rush into the clearing, yelling and sliding quarrels into the slings they'd ripped from their backs. He felt he should help, somehow. But what could he do? That thing could swallow him with a single gulp. He held out the blade that Mak had given him, as if it might magically ward off the monster. The weapon trembled in his small hands. Then he watched in horrified fascination as the huge cat leapt.

Parker screamed and dove under the beast, thrusting his spear up to slice along its flank, ripping its already mangled coat. It wasn't the first time a cat had underestimated him.

The angered beast roared in pain and landed on the slope just below Parker. It turned, quickly, and swiped a massive paw in his direction. But Parker had already rolled away and the giant claws whistled by his head. He turned and jumped away, thrusting his spear blindly behind him. He felt it strike., heard another angry snarl from the beast, and rolled into a thicket, turning just in time to see the cat leap after him. He tried to bury himself in the thick brush, but a paw lashed out, crushing branches and smacking his head.

Parker's world turned upside down.

Daniel watched Otter, Bosche' and Rennie make it to the clearing. The young men were yelling and screaming so the cat might reconsider its attack. "Hurry," he whispered urgently as he saw the cat jump. Then he let out a small triumphant yell when he saw Parker stab the beast and escape into a thicket of brush that hung over a small drop. Daniel was dizzy with the excitement. He'd never known anything like this. Not even when the Raiders had come into the museum.

But his excitement turned quickly to dread, as he heard something breaking though the brush ahead, coming up the edge of the ravine towards him. His breath stopped in his throat. All the men were in the clearing; and the women were waiting at the stream.

"Who is it?" Daniel called, as the thing came, breaking branches and trampling brush. He wanted to run but his feet would not obey. He lifted his weapon before him, and stood, shivering, a thin whine escaping from his mouth.

Suddenly, something smelly and grunting sped out of the thickets and struck him full force. Daniel's universe turned into an rush of pain and dazzling lights.

Then there was only darkness.

**5**

Emre' was struggling to catch up to Mak and Coco as they fought their way through the brush to the place where Parker was fighting for his life. The men yelled taunts at the creature as they approached. But the cat seemed oblivious to them. It lashed out at Parker as the man jumped into a thicket, expertly striking the cat with his spear as he made his escape. Emre' yelled, encouraged by the strike. Then he saw the cat smash down upon the thicket where Parker had taken shelter, and he stopped. The thicket was right above him; it hung on the edge of a drop of at least three men's lengths. He watched in horror as Parker fell right through.

Parker's world was coming back to him. It had been gone for moments as he tried to gather his wits. He'd had to close his eyes to keep the flying dirt from blinding him. He could hear the beast roaring in frustration, but could not tell where it was. Then something hit him on the back of the head and dirt filled his mouth. The cat roared again and he realized the sound came from above him. _Above him?_

He opened his eyes to see that he'd fallen over a small cliff. The strikes he had felt had not been from the cat, but the pounding of his own landing. He jumped up quickly, wondering where the hell his men were. He felt for his spear but couldn't find it. He reached in his sheath for his blade, but it must have been lost it in his fall.

There was another angry roar from above. Parker looked up to see a huge golden underbelly flying down at him.

"Shit!" he yelled and dodged just as something hissed by his head. The cat landed in the dirt near him, roaring in anger and pain. A quarrel was lodged deep in its side.

"Jump, Parker!" came a voice from just below.

Parker looked down the small cliff to see Emre' standing in the brush beneath. The young man was reloading his sling for another shot. Parker jumped, without hesitation, withou checking to see if the cat followed. He didn't have to. He could hear it thrashing and snarling in the brush.

Parker had heard that sound before and knew the creature was more than just hurt. It was angry. This was no longer just about food. This was about revenge.

Mak and Coco had ran up the side of the ravine, circling the area of the battle, and arriving just in time to see Parker fall. There was a tense moment when they realized they were alone on the hillside with the beast. They fell into position ready to do battle with the most dangerous of the wild predators. Then they watched in amazement as the enraged animal roared and jumped over the cliff in pursuit of their Chief. Tomas suddenly appeared behind them, his chest heaving, his spear ready for the fight. Together the men dashed to the edge and peered over to see Parker make another escape from the now wounded animal.

Emre' was down there too, reloading his sling. The old cat snarled and spat in the brush, contorting its body as it tried to pull the quarrel from its side. The three men eyed one another for a timeless moment. Then, without thinking further, they leapt from the cliff, screaming as they flew into the fight.

Emre' didn't have time to reload. The enraged beast abandoned its attempt to remove his quarrel and bore down on him faster than he could react. He raced away, screaming, only to feel his legs swiped from beneath him. He spun madly through the air and landed in a heap. His eyes and nose filled with dirt. He could not see! He could not flee! He was as good as dead. "Parker!" he cried helplessly.

Then he heard the cat roar again. But it was a frustrated sound. Someone had tagged it! Seizing the moment, Emre' jumped blindly ahead, knowing there was another drop before him, hoping that the fall wouldn't kill him. He shielded himself for a painful landing. But he hit something soft that gave way to the force of his fall. Then it wrapped him up and began to drag him through the brush.

"It's OK! I got you," Bosche' said, pulling Emre' away from the deadly fray.

Otter and Rennie broke through the brush below the fight. They added their voices to the taunts, but the beast did not seem intimidated by the armed men closing in on it. Otter heaved his spear, but his shot strayed and missed completely.

The cat ignored the sound of Otter's weapon crashing into the brush. Its side and back were ablaze with the fire of fresh wounds, but the pain did nothing to subdue its rage. Its mind burned with deadlier fires of hunger and anger. It turned to see the one it had stalked, standing alone now. The cat hissed and spat at the prey. Creatures like this had always been much easier to take down. It moved slowly on the man-thing, ready for the kill. But it reared back as other men fell, suddenly, from above, and landed in a flurry of dirt and screams. The cat paused to calculate this new threat.

"He's mine," Parker said when Tomas, Mak and Coco fell through the brush behind him. He reached towards Mak. The man took a moment to understand and then handed Parker his blade.

The cat was waiting, growing low, studying them. Its eyes were furious and calculating, its body larger than any Parker could remember.

But it was hurt.

"Come to me," Parker whispered, as the wounded beast seemed to weigh the situation. He stepped closer, watching the cat's hindquarters for the telltale flex of muscles that would signal a swipe of its paw. He had learned this from his father who had learned it from his father before him. "I am bones of the earth," Parker chanted low. "And you can never break me!"

The cat roared and jumped. It huge paw hissed through the air. Parker timed his strike perfectly. He stepped back and lashed out, feeling his sword connect with the flailing paw. The cat howled again, shocked at its prey's speed and strength. The beast finally realized the danger it was in, and made to flee.

But Parker had been wounded. This was no longer just about survival.

He moved for the wounded animal, hearing its slashing paws whistle through the air in front of him. But he knew these creatures, had slain them before. He felt its fear.

The beast was about to jump again. Parker backed away quickly, preparing to slash, but the thing suddenly reared up and howled. Another quarrel was poking out of its backside and blood flowed freely from the wound. Parker looked to see Rennie, standing in the brush, brandishing Emre's abandoned sling. He nodded at the youth, and then moved on the screaming animal. It had realized, too late, the danger of the men that had surrounded it.

Parker struck and struck again, his muscles glistening in the sunlight as he hacked at the hissing cat, his strikes rending terrified screams from the beast. His flailing blade rained thick droplets of red on the green thickets around him. Eventually the great cat neither screamed nor moved.

The battle was over.

The men circled around the dead animal. They were out of breath and the sweat of their close call ran into their eyes. But they were alive! They were triumphant! They looked on their Chief with renewed admiration.

Parker screamed and held his bloody sword high. He had beat death again! He laughed, and his men quickly joined him. Parker saluted them with a wave of his weapon. He walked to Rennie and hugged the young man tightly.

"Good shot, boy!" he said. Such a compliment was no light matter from an old warrior like Parker. Rennie beamed, blushing in the glow of his Chief's approval. And the man went on, hugging each of his men in turn. The men returned his embrace easily, feeling fortunate to have such a warrior to follow.

"My spear went wild, Parker," Otter said, embarrassed, when the Chief came to him. But Parker would not hear it and squeezed the young man, just as he had the rest.

"You fought good," he whispered in Otter's ear.

This was a good hunt. No one was hurt. They had lost the pigs, but the cat would do.

Then they saw Bosche' and Emre' crawling from the brush, wiping the dirt and twigs from their faces. Parker approached Emre' to salute his bravery. But he stopped short when he saw the concerned look on the young man's face.

"What?" he asked, annoyed, prepared for Emre' to ruin the moment with some unnecessary criticism of his plan. But the young hunter had other concerns.

"These cats travel in pairs, Parker," Emre' said, urgently. "Where is the boy?"

**6**

Daniel sat up slowly, painfully. His head was filled with a dull throbbing. Where was he? He had been waiting for something, right? He opened his eyes and shock awoke him completely. He was covered in blood!

The sight jogged his memory. He had been waiting for the men to catch the pigs, and then he had seen the giant cat and watched as it jumped on Parker and…

His thoughts fell away at a sound of something approaching. Something huge. He could hear it tromping over branches and smashing its way though the thickets.

Where was the knife that Mak had given him?

He moaned, searching blindly in the dirt. But it was nowhere! He let out a desperate cry and curled into a ball as some massive thing crashed noisily out of the thickets.

Then it called his name.

"Daniel!" Parker said, rushing to the boy's side. There was blood everywhere. Daniel peeked out from behind his hands and the man sighed. "He's alive!" Parker called, relieved. "Ish would have killed me," he said, softer. He stood the boy up and checked him for wounds. "Where does it hurt, boy?" he asked, urgently.

The boy grimaced and rubbed his forehead. "Right here" he sighed. Parker moved Daniel's hand and searched his scalp. The boy's head was indeed bruised, but there was no open wound. The blood could not be his. Then who or what did it belong to?

A laugh broke through the brush behind them, and Parker looked up to see Mak holding something huge and limp. It was bleeding from a gash in its chest. The butt of a small blade protruded from the wound.

It was a pig.

Both men looked at the boy, their eyebrows raised in question.

"Oh, there's the knife," Daniel said.

The men eyed each other for a moment, and then burst into laughter. Alerted by the sound, the other hunters rushed to the scene and soon all of them were rolling in fits.

Daniel watched the display curiously, moaning as he rubbed his aching head, and wondering just what was so damned funny.

**7**

_The boy has returned, carried on the shoulders of the thick man with the thin, sharp eyes. The young men follow him, carrying a dead thing that has been impaled on sticks. There is much excitement and that sound called 'laughter'. Doll does not understand this revelry. When the older men arrive the women gasp, and silence ensues. These men also carry something, but it is much bigger. It's head dangles back and its mouth hangs open, displaying huge sharp teeth. The unmoving creature is hung on sticks that the men carry on their shoulders. They drop the beast to the ground and the women stare at the thing in silence. Then hoots and cheers break out among them, and the men dance about, holding their spears and slings high. The young women begin to move among them, embracing them, kissing them. Celebrating their triumph._

_But the older woman remains silent, her eyes still fixed on the dead beast. Her gaze moves slowly to their leader, and he looks back at her. A ghost moves across the woman's face, and something behind her eyes flickers. After a moment, she walks to the man and embraces him._

_Doll hears the woman's tears. She sees the woman's body rocking gently against her man. Their silent embrace stands out in the midst of the celebration. Doll is transfixed by it._


	5. Chapter 5

**The Porcelain Doll**

**Chapter V**

**1**

Daniel wasn't very enthusiastic about retelling the story of the pig. He vaguely remembered some stinking, grunting thing that had shot from the bushes and struck him in the head. But anything more than that would require the type of embellishment that he always suspected the older men of engaging in.

"It was an accident, I think," he had explained numerous times already. But the Tribesmen would hear nothing of it. Their salutations initially confused Daniel, but by the time the night had fallen and the festivities had gotten underway, he was beginning to enjoy the attention. A bottle of a thick, sweet fluid, like Ish had given him in the museum, was passed around, and after a few sips, the men started acting wild. They laughed and yelled and told Daniel stories about their own first kill. The boy wouldn't have believed it possible, but the drunken men were actually louder than during their usual nightly shouting matches.

Emre' and Rennie had a chance to tell their stories, and even Bosche' had his time to share about saving Emre' from the cat. Emre' stepped up and rewarded Bosche' with a warm, drunken kiss that seemed to go on longer than necessary, and everyone laughed when Rennie barked a loud complaint.

But the older men, especially Parker, were, as usual, the center of attention. Tomas and Mak talked about running to the point where they had seen the cat, and then having to jump over the cliff. But Parker had been the one who had actually slain the great beast. Its soft parts were now sizzling on the fire, along with the sweet meat of the pig.

"And then I heard the growl and smelled that nasty breath behind me," Parker said, in between sips of the fermented drink. "When I turned and saw that mouth full of teeth, my balls froze!"

"I hope they thawed," Ish said, and laughter broke out.

Parker had to shush the Tribe to regain their attention. "You'll find out later," he said with a wink.

"Let the boy tell his tale!" Emre' blurted, before Parker had a chance to continue. "We've heard your story enough."

Parker's expression grew serious and there was a sudden tension among the Tribe. But the old Chief finally put up his hands in resignation. "Move on the glory, to sons of old fighters past!" he laughed, tottering a bit in his intoxication. "Come, Daniel, tell us of your kill!"

Daniel moaned and pressed his palms to his face. Not again! "Noooo…" he shouted, his voice muffled behind his hands. But the Tribe hooted and yelled at him.

"C'mon boy!" Mak said, "brave pig killer!" There was more laughter. Then something silenced them.

"Daniel?" Ish beckoned. The boy parted his hands and looked up, hesitantly. Ish nodded toward Malin, who was holding something up in the light of the fire. At first the boy could not make out the shape of the fuzzy bundle in the woman's arms. Then he realized it was a coat and boots.

"For me?" he asked excitedly.

Malin nodded. "Now you don't have to look like a little mouse wrapped in lion's fur," she said. "And I can have my clothes back!"

The Tribe shouted their approval as Daniel stood to take his new clothing. He inspected the furry wardrobe the women had sewn for him, and his face broke into a grateful smile.

"Put them on," Rosa said. But Daniel hesitated, glancing at the Tribe shyly.

"Don't be silly, boy!" Parker said, "We are family! Go on. Put them on." The Tribe hooted encouragement and Daniel slipped out of Malin's oversized things, shivering in the cool night air. In moments he was wearing his warm, new apparel. The Tribe clapped their hands and Ish let him have another sip of the sweet drink.

"Now you tell your tale, right?" Coco suggested.

"I'm tired of that story!" Daniel complained, a bit too seriously. There was greeted with disapproving grunts.

"Maybe he needs more drink?" Otter suggested.

"Maybe he's had too much!" said Emre'.

"Well, tell us _something_!" Rosa said. "You are one of our heroes today." The others applauded her sentiment.

Daniel scanned their expectant faces. The pig had been an accident, that was all, and he was tired of talking about it. But what else could he share with these people, these Roamers for whom life had been a constant battle since before he was born. He looked away, into the darkness as he thought. He saw another face there, gazing on his with a calm, detached smile.

"OK," Daniel said with a new light in his eyes. "I know a great story for you!"

**2**

_By the time he was old enough to do his numbers, he could tell anyone her story. He would have welcomed an opportunity to do so, but as far as he could remember there had only been he and Uncle on the quiet grounds of the old museum; just they and Doll. _

_Uncle had told him it was his job to look after her, to attend to her needs and keep her from danger. He had made Daniel promise, and explained that promises were not to be taken lightly; that this was a "sacred" duty and a promise was "eternal". _

_Doll had been Uncle's responsibility for longer than Daniel had been alive and the man explained that there had been others before him, numerous people, in whose care Doll had been placed. This duty had been passed along from one party to another for longer than Daniel would understand, Uncle had said, and now it was up to Daniel to see to her safety. So, along with his daily lessons, Daniel had learned how to care for Doll, had learned her past and the specifics of her function. _

_But as the years passed, Uncle had begun to act strangely. He would talk to invisible people during the dark hours of the night, muttering to himself about places that Daniel had never heard of. Over time Daniel's lessons had stopped. The numbers and letters and words that Uncle had patiently taught him since he was old enough to understand had taken second place to caring for Doll, even when she was in no apparent need of attention. _

_Even with his limited understanding of the world, Daniel had come to realize that Uncle was not okay, that something was wrong with the man. Eventually, before he had taken ill and fell into a sleep that Daniel had not understood, Uncle had spent every waking moment speaking of Doll, retelling the same stories over and over. Daniel had memorized those tales during the difficult years of Uncle's growing madness. _

_Was it the attack on the museum that had driven he man to act so? Had it been the savage and incomprehensible destruction of the artifacts and musical instruments which had turned Uncle's hair white and made his gaze distant? Daniel had been too young to understand what had been happening then. He only knew that he had made a promise. So small was he then, that Uncle had had to kneel to confirm the promise with the customary handshake. The boy had not known the gravity of this responsibility and the importance of Doll until years had passed. In that time he had come to take the promise very seriously. He would protect her at all costs._

"_She is "special", Uncle had explained. "One of a kind."_

"_A treasure."_

**3**

"A long time ago she used to be a doll," Daniel started, realizing he wasn't entirely sure where to begin. "I mean a _real_ doll," he said, placing his hands one above the other, to signify something small and fragile. "Made of 'porcelain'," he said, hoping no one would ask what 'porcelain' was, because he wasn't really sure. Uncle had never explained. "And every day she would play in the garden…"

**4**

…_amid the buzzing and chirping of the other toys. They were all his creations, and he would often come into the garden; or this place that could be known as a garden, to lose himself in the sounds of his devices, and to listen to her, his most treasured creation. His Porcelain Doll._

_Her sounds were those that had been loved by another, she in whose memory this room had been constructed. She, who slept eternally beneath the soft earth of this place, beneath the wild flowers, or those devices that could be known as flowers; those devices that would bloom eternally, as unhampered by the seasons as the 'insects' of the garden were unaffected by the hours of the day, and as the Porcelain Doll was unhampered by sleep or hunger or any other factor that would keep her from her function. _

_She played the same piece, at the same time, every day. _

_The soft notes melded smoothly into the gentle sounds of the garden, and when her time was finished, the man would rise and leave, outside the level of her awareness or concern._

_Even if she had been in possession of those faculties that would have allowed her to sense him, she would not have cared. There was only the music at that time. It had been the cold language of digital encoding; the precise logic of numbers and linear synapse triggers. Even the sound she created was a sensation yet alien to her. _

_But her creator had been working on her. Developing her. Elaborating her processing and sensory capabilities. _

_In the passions of his loss and the toll it took on him, Doll came to represent the resurrection of his lost love, and the re-fortressing of his heart against the tide of time and age. He had come to love his device, after a fashion. Or maybe it was his fascination with her that he loved. It consumed him and set him on a quest that would shape the events of the rest of his life. _

_And hers._

**5**

"The man was called Devimbi, François Devimbi," Daniel continued at a faster pace, becoming quickly accustomed to being the center of attention. "He was a robot builder from a place called 'France', but I don't know where that is." He shrugged an apology for his inability to explain France's whereabouts. "I think it got drowned like New York or Lewisana and Floridia."

"Floridia? Lewisana?" Otter repeated skeptically. "I never heard of these places. You are making this up!"

Daniel raised his chin, feeling confident in his new status, and perhaps the influence of the few swigs of liquor he had been allowed. "This is common history, and I am surprised you don't know about it" he countered, confidently. All the Tribe chuckled, except Otter, who snorted, but sat back down at Emre's insistence.

"Devimbi was a …" how had Uncle put it? "…_new-ro-logical_ developer. That means he built Machine brains."

"I didn't know Machines had brains," Otter blurted. "They sure don't act like it!" The tribe laughed again.

"Of course they have brains!" Daniel said testily. "How do you think they walk and talk?"

"I think Otter was just playing Daniel," Rosa said, gently. The boy looked at her with a curious expression. Did he not understand the humor, she wondered. Had she ever seen him laugh?

"Doll has a _special _brain," Daniel continued, ignoring the humor he did not seem to comprehend. He began to pace as he spoke, unconsciously mimicking the professorial postures of the man he'd known as Uncle. "Her brain is like no other before …"

**6**

…_or after her creation. _

_François Devimbi was the first to develop the programming that would enable his precious creation to know a special language and, perhaps, a special understanding. She was the first of her kind to know this unique quality of being, the first to understand the incalculable essence of the sound called "music". Not just in its coarse, literal manifestation, as all musical simulators were capable of, but in that indefinable expression and function of the mind that had remained elusive to neuro-programmers for so many years:_

_Meaning. Interpretation._

_Emotion._

_Before her creation, these factors had been the sole providence of that troubled, sentient species called Humanity. In the restless, chaotic millennia of their histories, humankind's deific ambitions had produced all manner of magic. Barriers had been broken. Discoveries in space-faring technologies and genetic manipulations; in energy production and refinement, had brought society to new technological heights. Human replicating robots, and their thinking devices, had moved into new levels of sophistication. These advancements had changed everything in the known universe.. Except the way men thought._

_Machine People, once the symbol of lofty aspirations, had become practical in their design, limited in their functions lest they become too sophisticated for their owners. Created specifically to their individual tasks, they had become the new servant class for those who could afford them, and in the line of social hierarchy, theirs were the menial and laborious duties that had been the sustenance of the struggling and abused working classes for centuries. _

_Due to this, the complex relationships between the shelves upon which the groundwork of society was built, had shifted. Eventually, these frictions had created fissures in the functional apparatus of the civilized world. The resulting turbulence had brought the progress of the technological world to a halt… and then to complete cessation. It was a quake that spawned wars and starvation. _

_It was the beginning of the end. _

_But Doll knew nothing of these events and would not have been concerned about them if she had. She only knew her function, and it was all that mattered. _

**7**

"It was very difficult for him to get her to work right," Daniel continued, not exactly sure what part of her story to tell first. "When he first built her she played only from programs and data files, just like any other machine would. But then he decided to make her better. Devimbi didn't want her limited to _'pre-conditioned responses'._ He wanted to build a machine that had its own…" he paused, trying to remember. "…_Interpretive__ character!_" he said, excitedly, when the words came back to him.

Otter stood again, ignoring the irritated looks from those who wanted to let the boy have his moment. "What in hell are you talking about?" he said, in frustration. "What is _'interpretive character'_? What does the damned Machine do?"

Daniel's face twisted in an expression of incredulity, and then annoyance, at the question. "She plays the piano!" he replied, as if it should have been obvious to all.

**9**

_Doll knew the boy was speaking of her. He was explaining her to them. What she did. How she did it. A small part of her unique processor listened and sorted the dialogue into comprehensible parameters. In the rest of her brain an unending processing loop preoccupied every idle data flow. She gazed out past their intrigued faces. Her fingers moved gently under the folds of her white dress, triggering invisible keys. The silence was her torture; this excruciating time away from the instrument that was her only reason for being._

**10**

"Piano?" Mak repeated, looking around the group to see if he was alone in his ignorance. But the others seemed to be as confused as the big warrior. They gazed around at each other, hoping someone might understand.

"It's a music box," Ish said, as she eyed the distracted Machine. "I've seen one, but that was a long ago, when I was a girl in the North cities, I think. " Her face twisted in recollection. "They sound like …" She stopped, not having the words to explain.

Parker shifted his weight and cleared his throat to announce an inquiry. "Daniel… what good is a machine that plays a music box?" he asked, after futilely pondering a better way to frame the question.

Emre' chimed in. "Yeah, Machines are for building and digging, right? Carrying packs and things." There were some grunts of agreement to Emre's point, although none of them could imagine the fragile looking Doll performing such duties.

"And there were fighting Machines," Coco added. "There were ones built for killing. They were almost impossible to beat," he said, as if the purveyor of some rare information.

"They did numbers, too!" Malin said. "And _humping_," she added quickly, beating Otter' to the punch. Mak laughed and made a lurid thrusting gesture with his hefty body. All the men joined in, grunting and twisting their faces in mock ecstasy. Ish smiled, but shushed them when she noticed Daniel's quiet agitation.

Daniel felt a new reservation as he stood before them. When the laughter died down, he opened his mouth to answer, but realized that he didn't really have a response to Parker's question. Uncle had never spoken of such matters. Doll's value was presumed.

Uncle had never lived in this 'other' world; this world that Daniel was only now learning of; this mysterious expanse that he'd seen only through the windows of the museum. He was just learning what kind of world it was and what kind of people populated it. But how would Doll live in a world like this, among people that didn't understand the importance of her function? He eyed them quietly, sensing that her safety depended upon his answer.

He had _promised_.

He chose his words carefully.

"She is… a _treasure_," he said, slowly, punctuating each word. Uncle's ceaseless monologues ran through his head. "She is the _only_ Machine to ever have her own sense of… _musicality_." Uncle's words were coming back to him quickly now. He stepped closer to the Tribe as he spoke. "She is as much a treasure as the music she recreates. There are few in this day and age that will appreciate what that means…_ but I do!_ Her creation was the end result of years of toil and striving, and that is why she must be protected _at all costs."_

They were quiet now, watching him, following his every word carefully. He did not know how odd he was to them, nor how intriguing. He would not yet understand how even those who distrusted his precocious manner and piercing blue eyes, those whose patience was wearing at his assuming tone of voice, were drawn to his words, and drawn to him. And how he was now drawing them to her.

"If you could hear her play you would understand," Daniel said. "You have never heard…

**11**

…_music like this, it had never been set to open interpretation by neural simulating processors. There were the Machine performers in the malls and entertainment venues, in the public forums where the Unions and business owners had bargained away the protections of human artists. But even at their high level of sophistication, they were glorified automatons, articulating notes in the precise mimicry programmed them._

_Doll was different._

_François Devimbi had created the most elaborate thinking machines for use by public and private concerns. The results of his works were to be found in everything from lunar construction bots to street level prostitute models. The gamut of society's functional thinking devices used logic and processing protocols that he had either created or influenced. But Doll had been his crowning achievement, and his most personal. _

_After the passing of his beloved wife, it was in Doll that he had invested all his time and passion, certain that he had inadvertently stumbled on a process that would allow artificial intelligence to begin to reason completely on its own. And he had done this through the language of music; music born of love and loss._

_Yet his success had been limited. For years he had struggled in this process and Doll's basic design had been revised time and time again. Her brain was removed from her tiny porcelain form and then reinserted repeatedly as he worked. He had kept her sensory functioning limited at first, to keep irrelevant environmental data from distracting the sensitive interpretive processors in her head. _

_Intent on being the first to bring artificial intelligence into the realm of sentient processing, he had been forced to create various mock designs as decoys for competitors who tried to mimic his methods. But in the end, it was the works of another that would complete Devimbi's efforts, and bring his Doll to life._

_In his graying years, after decades of frustration, François had heard of a man across the risen oceans, an American CEO of one of the largest and most innovative robot builders on the planet. The organization's work was as well known as his own, and they had crossed a crucial barrier in the function of Machine processing. _

_He had created a robot that knew 'love'. _

_When Devimbi read this his heart raced. This had to be the missing element, the undefined factor in Doll's maturation! It was the one thing he had not even considered. Emotions! _

_A communication was sent across the net. Having programming problems of his own, the American had been intrigued with Devimbi's project. Phone calls and arrangements were made, and the man had flown across the risen oceans to see for himself, Devimbi's efforts. They had gone into the garden and listened quietly as she played. Devimbi whispered during the short piece, outlining the subtleties of what was happening, explaining the nuances and the difference between her performance and the automatic renderings of basic performance simulators._

_When it was over, the American was excited. Enthralled. A bond of mutual admiration had been built, and the men shared ideas excitedly, unofficially becoming associates in her development._

"_You must bring her to America," the man said before he left. "I have an entire network of programmers at my disposal."_

_Excited for the first time in years, Devimbi had agreed immediately._

_Days later, Devimbi came into the garden one last time, to listen to her play. Then he shut the garden down and took her from her podium into the withering world, over the great oceans to America, to what was left of the greatest of her sunken cities. _

_It was there that, for the first time, Doll would come to know the element for which she had been constructed in its real form. It was there that she would feel the aural embrace and the magic of sound. _

**12**

The Tribe was silent as Daniel spoke, hanging on his every word. His story took them to a time that they could not have known, a time when Machines were still alive, when the great towers glittered against the night, and flying crafts filled the skies, leaving trails of luminous vapor above the earth and the waters of the great oceans.

But Parker waved his arm, interrupting Daniel's story.

"The rest can wait," he said, "We must clear the hills tomorrow and we have new weight to carry." He nodded to the remains of the pig and the cat.

There was genuine disappointment in the faces of the others. Even Otter, who had been the least receptive to the tale, had become entranced. But they knew Parker was right. There was a long way to go, and a lot of work to do.

Ish grunted as she rose unsteadily. "Yes, we still have to cut and pack this cat. I guess it's not that bad a thing that most of it is too hard to keep." She picked out Otter and Rennie and said, "You two can get to that." The young men grumbled, but obeyed. The rest of them made their way slowly to blankets.

Daniel crawled into his bedding, and leaned on an elbow as he watched the curious partnering process of the Tribe. Mak was taking the first watch. He relaxed his bulk against the base of a large tree, while Ish rolled into Tomas's bedding. Rosa slid into Parker's fur. The two whispered and giggled and the blankets began to move rhythmically in the firelight. Coco spoke softly to Malin who turned away with a flick of her wrist, and sidled up to Emre'. Emre' felt her against him and faced her with a knowing smile. Then the two walked to the edge of the camp, and were soon rolling over each other, under the thick coating of Emre's fur. Coco cast a long glance long at Bosche', who had wrapped himself up in his fur. But the young man only frowned back and covered his head quickly.

Daniel leaned back and pondered this. He gazed at the starry sky, feeling some new anxiety in his heart. After a moment, he called to Doll to lie down beside him. The Machine woman knew what was expected of her and obeyed quietly. Daniel snuggled his back to her, tucked his legs up like a child, and wrapped her arm over his shoulder. He laid his cheek down against her hand and a flicker of memory crossed his mind. When he was small, another gentle arm had embraced him like this. It was soft, like Doll's, and he vaguely remembered a warm kiss on his cheek, long strands of golden hair tickling his face and shoulders, and a gentle voice laughing and singing to him. Then telling him goodbye.

The recollection forced a tear into Daniel's eye, and he pressed tighter against Doll, the only mother he had ever known. He fell to sleep in the Machine's gentle embrace.

**13**

_The boy has wrapped himself in her arms like he had done when he was small, after the golden haired woman had wandered in from the wastes and left him in the museum with the lonely man he had come to know as Uncle. The boy's cries had filled the museum for hours that night, keeping the man awake. _

_Uncle had grown angry at first, but then Doll heard him singing and cooing, doing his best to calm the little abandoned child. Eventually the man had brought the child to her and told her to hold him. She had not understood. She had nothing of this in her database. Such things were not among her specified functions. So the man had laid Doll on the blankets that he had set out for the child, and wrapped the boy in her arms. "Stay that way," he had ordered, as he walked back to his own room. The child had struggled and whined at first. But soon he quieted in her gentle grasp. She had watched curiously as the small boy stuck one of his little digits into his mouth and began to suck on it, humming some low whine all the while. Then he fell into a deep sleep. _

_Doll recalls this night clearly; the first night the boy had dreamt in her arms. She is unable to retreat with him to the place of dreams, so she lays quietly, feeling him breathing against her, just like the first time so long ago, and so many times since. _

_And just like those other times, she wiped a hand across his sleeping face and felt the wetness under his eyes. She rolled the moisture in her fingers until it was absorbed, wondering from whence it came, and why._

..


	6. Chapter 6

**The Porcelain Doll**

**Chapter VI**

**1**

Forty days after the Tribe left the museum, they chanced upon the crumbling remains of a great city. The mountainous path on which they been traveling spiraled down into jutting foothills and the city spread out beyond, a cluster of silent grey monoliths veined by broken roads and highways. The mummified towers that had once been shining symbols of man's achievements, now served as gravestones to reckless ambitions. The faces of the old building were worn with time and decrepitude, and dark foreboding hung over the place like a fog.

Parker, Emre' and Ish stood apart from the rest, and spoke for some time, deciding what to do. There were dangers in such places.

Mak grumbled about restless spirits that hid in the darkness of silent towers, waiting for people to awaken them so they could rise and wreak havoc on the world. Otter teased him and whispered to the others, who chuckled under their breath. But Mak insisted that the tales had merit.

Parker had other concerns. The cities had poison places. There was sufficient snow on the hills to assure the streams would be safe for water, but in the old places there could be areas where even camping might invite death.

Emre' pointed out that the remains of the hunt were starting to get low and there was at least the possibility of finding food in the ruins. He also reminded them that hoarders were known to have kept hidden treasures in the old towers. There could be useful artifacts hidden within one of them. Weapons, maybe. The leaders talked it over. Emre' and Tomas knew how to read most of the 'danger' signs, and the boy also knew many words, so at least they could avoid toxics.

Finally, Parker made his decisions and the Tribe began to make their way down into the foothills, and onto the broken roads that led into the dead place.

They passed low, squat buildings, and groups of silent houses that were clustered alongside the road, or beneath it when the highway rose over another. But these places were grim and haunted looking, and the reek of toxins was on them. With unspoken unanimity the Tribe decided to move on.

As they neared the first of the great towers, a chilled breeze kicked up the refuse of centuries. Parker felt that chill in his heart. He stopped the procession. The snow was light here, and it would be hard to see the prints of any other's passage. He knew other Roamers might make a home in the old towers, so it was possible that they were not alone.

"Stay close," Parker said, withdrawing his blade. The others followed his lead, pulling weapons from their sheaths. Daniel was surprised to see the women slip savage looking blades from beneath their coats. Uncle had told him that women were weak and had to be protected. This was another area where Uncle's lessons had not been entirely accurate.

They moved cautiously through the grey stillness, feeling as if silent eyes were on them. Another gust of wind rushed through the empty streets, the breath of invisible specters whispering of a time gone by.

They passed the hulks of dead wagons that lay along the side of the road. These crafts that had, at one time, moved quickly over the ground and through the air, were now strewn about in rusted disarray. The place was littered with ruined and unrecognizable machinery, and everywhere there were giant signs filled with enormous smiling faces peeking through the grime of centuries. The faces were surrounded by unintelligible symbols. They said "Eat" and "Drink" and "limited offer" and they lined all the paths of the dead city. The nomads passed in silence, the dust of civilization crumbling beneath their feet.

Emre' stopped at the front of the procession, and pointed over the edge of the road. "Is that what I think?" he asked excitedly.

Near one of the large towers, in the midst of a cluster of ruined wagons and debris, lay a large metallic object that looked like it may have once glittered in the sunlight. Wires protruded along the length of its smashed and rusted flank and, from atop its head, warped metal rods hung over its body and dug into the ground. At the rear of the craft, a crimson cross peeked through the rust of a fin.

Ish cried out. She hadn't seen one of the rescue ships since her childhood. "It'll have rations, Parker!" she said.

But Parker was already on his way. "To each his own," he laughed, jumping over the railing and waving for the others to follow. Emre' dropped his pack and was fast on the men's heels, laughing when overtook him. The challenge brought a surge of energy to Parker, and he pushed himself harder, catching to the younger man and playfully knocking him over as he raced by. The rest of the travel weary Tribe followed, looking like a stampede of wooly plains beasts in their thick furs as they ran down the snowy slope towards the old aeroplane,

True to his promise, Daniel walked slowly beside Doll. She could not run. She had not been designed for such activities. Only Rennie and Bosche' slowed to wait for the pair.

Parker arrived first with Emre right behind. The men stood a moment laughing and catching their breath. Then they peeked through one of the dirty windows. Their jaws dropped.

"Do you see?" Emre' whispered, reverently.

"Yes, I see," Parker whispered back.

Huge plastic cartons lined the inside of the craft. A few were broken open, their contents lay in piles on the floor.

"Synthetics," the men said in unison. They did due diligence, circling the craft, checking to see if anyone might have already tagged it as property. But they could see no marks except ancient symbols, unintelligible through the dirt and rust.

The cargo door slid open with much more ease than they'd anticipated. They jumped into the craft, laughing like children, and began to sift through the boxes.

"What is it?" Parker asked, grasping a handful of hand sized packets. Emre' struggled with the writing on one of the plastic wrappers. "Uh, vi-ta-man for-ti-fy-ed… forti…" he shook his head. "It's food!" he laughed.

The others were arriving, taking turns scolding the men for acting like hoarders. But when they saw the magnitude of the find, their recriminations were put aside and they began sifting through the boxes.

Tomas hesitated in the doorway. He didn't like the abandon in which the others were stuffing their mouths. He turned to scan the silent tower that loomed beside the craft. "Someone must know about this," he muttered. "They could be watching us."

Rennie and Bosche' arrived next. They had waited as long as they could for the boy and his Machine, but the pair was taking too long and they didn't want to miss anything. The couple ignored Tomas' complaints and forced their way past him, jumping into the fray.

"I saw no tracks," Mak assured Tomas as he stuffed one of the synthetic food bars into his mouth. He immediately spat it out. "Akkk! It's rotted!"

Emre' swallowed a mouthful and shook his head. "Synthetics can't rot," he said, and glanced at the green wrapper in Mak's hand. "Oh, that's spin-ach. Try this one." He tossed a bar at the man. "Maraconi and Chess. Pretty good."

But Tomas was not satisfied with Maks' flippant response. "No tracks means nothing," he said. "This snow is fresh. Tracks were probably covered."

Ish relaxed against a stack of rations and peeled back the wrapping on a golden colored bar. "This thing has been here since before we were born," she said. "If anyone knew about it, it would be empty by now."

Tomas started to reply when Otter jumped at him, brandishing handfuls of the small plastic wrappers. "Chocolate, Tomas! Chocolate!" he said, holding them to the man's face. "Shut up and eat!" The old tracker grumbled for a moment. Then shoved his way past Parker. "Well, leave some for me, damn it." he said.

Daniel finally caught up, and saw the feeding frenzy going on inside. He led Doll to the corroded remains of the landing gear and sat her down. "Stay here," he ordered. Then he raced inside, using some new, colorful words he had learned from the Tribe, to express his feelings about their impatience.

It was only Doll who would notice the shadowy figure that emerged slowly from the old tower.

**2**

_She watches a figure take shape in of the shadows of the building. It is a man. His body is thin and bent, clothed in the tattered remnants of a form-fitting suit. His face is creased from age, and covered in a tangle of mottled grey hair. His eyes are suspicious, wary as he gazes on her. He stops at a short distance, and waves his hands._

_Is this a greeting? A warning? Doll does not know. She does not respond._

**3**

The old man wasn't sure if she was real or the traces of a dream that had followed him into the waking world. Such things had appeared before. Like the laughing little girl called Madeline, who used to follow from his dreams and inhabit the corner of his vision all day; or the amorphous shape he called Dark Horse, that would hover over his building from time to time. He hadn't seen either of them in a while. But there were still the ghost voices. They would probably haunt him forever.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, to clear his senses. But the beautiful apparition was still there, looking lonely and lost. Slowly the idea came that she could be … real? His heart raced. He stepped out of the shadows and waved his lanky arms. She did not return the gesture. "Hallo!" he called, displaying a smile that was only partially toothed. But his smile faltered when the woman continued to ignore him.

The hermit sighed. So she was not real after all. But he quickly shrugged it off. He could use the company either way. He stepped towards her slowly, so not to scare her off.

"You a friend of Madeline?" he asked conversationally when he was within earshot, surprised that she had not already vanished. "Got plenty good eatin inside my trailer there. Synthetics, ya know. Last forever." He didn't really know what else to say, and wasn't sure how long it would be before she faded back into the realm of dreams.

"Bunch'a old famine relief copters was stashed up here. Guvvament hoarders tried to hide 'em but, uh, well, I guess we fount em." He cackled a dry laugh and then noticed that the apparition wasn't looking at him. Her eyes gazed up at the space above his head. The man turned to see if another dream creature, perhaps the Dark Horse, was hovering behind him. But there was nothing.

"Seems we're all alone," he said, wiping his tangled hair out of his face. This one did not seem as intent on leaving as the others. Maybe she might stick around long enough for a little…. fun. "That sure is a pretty dress," he said, slyly, siding up to her. "But, uh, ain't you just a little cold out here?" But as he moved closer the thought came to him that something was not quite right. He reached out and pressed a finger tentatively against her arm. He snapped it back.

"My oh my," he whispered. "You're…"

A small figure flew out of the copter, screaming and swinging his little fists. The hermit yelped and jumped away, warding off the tiny blows.

"_Get away from her!"_ Daniel yelled, his face red, his breath misting in the cold. "_She's not for that! She not for that!_!"

"Hold on, there!" the hermit yelled, pushing at the small frenzied thing. He caught the boy's flailing wrists and realized this was not nightmare. "You're real!" he said in disbelief. "Damn the devil! You're-"

But the boy suddenly relented, and the old man went stiff when a black-faced giant exited the craft, his eyes hard and scrutinizing. Another was behind him, a thick-bodied man with tight, Asian eyes. Their clothing was dirty and road worn, fashioned from the skins of dead animals.

"Awww shit," the hermit muttered, feeling his stomach twist. These were roamers. Warriors.

And so must have been those who followed, the tall one with the long beard, his eyes bright and watchful; the beautiful, fair-skinned woman with the wild red hair, her chin raised and proud; the muscular, young, dark man with the angry eyes, looking as if he was ready for a fight; and a dark, heavy woman with the broad face and knowing gaze. Then came younger ones, fair, with the smoothness of childhood still in their faces. But the hardness of life on the road shone clear in their eyes. These were people who had seen much of the dying world and were ready, at any moment, to meet its challenges. The biggest of them held his hands out from his sides to show that they were empty. The others formed a line behind him, their hands hidden in the folds of their coats. The old hermit understood this. There was a silent exchange as he measured the situation. Only the boy's excited breath could be heard as he defensively embraced the strange, beautiful woman.

After a tense moment, Parker walked forward and held his hands out, palms skyward. It was a sign of friendship. There were too few of them left to fight amongst each other anymore.

The old man sighed relief and held his own hands to the sky. The others nodded and released the handles of their blades.

"We are the Tribe," the huge man said. "I am Parker, and we bear no evil." He gestured to the fallen aircraft. "We didn't know this was yours."

But the hermit didn't seem to care about their trespass. He moved forward slowly, holding a trembling hand out before him. Parker accepted the old hand and felt the gnarled fingers clasp his tightly. A grin broke on the hermit's face, accentuated by a dry, cackling laugh.

"Call me Nayar," the hermit said in a rusty voice, and his face suddenly twisted in an uncontrollable swell of emotion. "It's so …. it's so good to see other folk," he said, struggling to keep his composure. "I thought you was a dream. Though it was only me out here! That was the only one."

Parker reached out and pulled the frail old man close, patting him on the back as the emotional moment passed. He looked over his shoulder and winked at the Tribe. They nodded silent chuckles.

Nayar finally pulled away, and wiped the tears from his eyes. He gestured to the building behind him. "Well, c'mon now," he said. "I got heat goin' inside. Got night lights and everything!" He did a strange little jiggling dance, beckoning them to follow. "You folks grab some more'a them food bars and come on inside! It's cold out here!"

**4**

By the time the sun fell, they were all camped warmly inside the old tower, amid the wreckage of ancient office furniture and equipment. Freed from their heavy coats, the road-worn people were scattered around the large room, lain atop the surface of desks or relaxing in the deteriorating cushions of old office couches.

The building's mechanical heart was still beating somewhere in the complex machinery of its aged body. The Tribe could hear huge mechanisms whirr into activity, pumping heat into the room, and then stopping once the desired temperature was achieved. The aged solar cells were still working, rejuvenating in the light of day. But the world was covered in a constant haze, and the batteries were old. They would never work as well, or provide as much energy, as they'd originally been designed. No one knew how long the power would last and, when it did fail, there was no one left who could revive it.

Outside, the snow was beginning to fall. Nayar explained that it fell almost every night but melted quickly on those days when the sun broke through the haze. The Tribe explained that this was not uncommon, that it was happening everywhere as the climates lost their continuity and fell into chaos.

The women sat among themselves, taking this time away from the attentions of the men to groom each other and discuss the various matters of their concern. Their soft voices and laughter danced on the air of the room. Rennie and Bosche' whispered softly between one another while Otter, Coco and Tomas laid back to watch the snow fall outside. Quietly they gazed out of the huge plate windows, wondering how much of their journey was yet before them.

Parker, Emre and Mak sat under the solitary light, talking with Nayar in the faded yellow glow. The old man was eager to hear about the world outside, but he seemed distracted by the women's laughter. It had been so long since he had been in the company of a female. Parker noticed Nayar's distraction, how his gaze always drifted back to the women. But he knew the old man had no more than a slim chance of having anything more than a conversation with any of them. It was not really his age, or even his strange, gnarled appearance, that would be their concern. It was because he was not one of them.

"Here, old man," Parker said holding out a cup of red pulpy fluid. "Share a drink with us." Nayar took the cup and smelled it hesitantly. Then he handed it back to Parker.

"That's nice of ya, but I better not," he said. A dark look fell across his features. But he quickly brightened. "Why don't you folks tell me what's of the world! Where ya from? How'd ya get here?"

"We walked," Emre' replied. "How'd you get here?" There was tension in his voice. Suspicion. He'd see the shadow flash across the old hermit's face. But it was gone before it could be interpreted.

Nayar rolled his matted beard in his fingers, thinking. "Well, I been here for longer than I can remember, really," he said with a nervous laugh. "We was crossin' over them mountains and fount this place and… I guess it's a good a home as any. Got everything ya need. Got sun batteries somewhere inside. Still workin', as you can tell. Got the old tanker outside with lots 'a food. Don't taste all that great but it'll keep ya goin!" Nayar cackled and jumped up. He executed a quick little turn, apparently to exemplify his health. The men glanced a snicker at each other as the old man sat back down.

"And there's another one wrecked up in the hills! I ain't cracked it open yet, but I'm pretty sure it's got good stuff in it too. Maybe you folk can help me get inside."

Emre' cleared his throat and set a hard gaze on the old man. "We?" he asked. Nayar looked back at him, blank-faced. "You said 'we' were crossing the mountains," Emre' explained. "Where are the rest?"

"Oh, yeah," Nayar repled, with his strange cackling laugh. "Well, they went on up over the hills a long time ago. Didn't like it here, I guess."

"Why not?" Emre shot back. "Got everything you need, right?" The sarcasm in his voice was a bit too obvious. Parker sighed, but let the conversation take its course.

"Well, uh, I can't really say why they moved on," Nayar said, thoughtfully, scratching his head as if befuddled by the point. "I liked it here, and that's why I stayed."

"Maybe that's why they left," Emre' suggested.

Nayar kept his empty smile for a moment. "What did I say to upset you young'un?" he asked, apologetically. "I didn't mean to, whatever it was."

Parker chuckled to break the tension. There were better ways of doing things. "Don't feel bad, Nayar. We've been on the road a long time." He fixed his gaze on Emre', who looked away. "And we need a little rest," he said.

Nayar looked genuinely displeased. "Ok, I unnerstand. I just wanted to hear 'bout the world outside, that's all. Gets a little lonely out here, ya know?"

Parker smiled, and nodded across the darkened room to where Daniel was sitting quietly with Doll. "The boy might have a story or two for you," he said, and cast a cryptic glance at the other men. They smiled knowing agreements.

"Oh yeah?" Nayar asked.

"Oh yeah" Mak laughed, rising and stretching his hefty frame. "He's got plenty of stories."

Nayar sensed the humor in the men's voices, but didn't get the joke. "Well, I can talk to the boy a bit, I guess," he said as the men moved away.

**5**

The first night Daniel shared Doll's history with the members of his new family, he had decided to be her spokesperson. At every opportunity he would regale the Tribe with tales from her grand past. Before their eyes, the slight, shy boy had morphed into an assertive orator. It seemed to them that Daniel had been unaware of how much information he was privy to. He would finish one story and quickly start on another, as if it was an afterthought. He would often digress, to elaborate some peripheral note, and then embark on such a winding narrative that he never quite made it back to the main story. They had listened raptly; had questioned him, challened the claims that they could not accept. But in the end it was only his young voice that would be heard around the fire.

But that arrangement did not last. The boy's well eventually ran dry, and the once fascinated nomads grew weary of his ceaseless monologs. In time, the old stories took precedent as Parker or Mak regained the floor and the challenges and yelling ensued. Daniel retreated to the sidelines then, sitting by Doll and waiting for another moment in the firelight. But they were rare.

"Hey ya boy," Nayar said as he plopped down beside Daniel. "How ya doin? Nice here, innit? Better than sleepin' out in the cold, I bet."

"My name is Daniel, not 'boy'," he corrected the old man. Some of the men across the room chuckled, and Daniel made a derisive snort in their direction.

"Ok. Daniel it is," Nayar conceded. "Sooo… I hear you got yourself a real nice Machine here."

The boy raised a suspicious brow at the man. "Her name is Doll," he explained after a moment.

Nayar nodded, thinking he had perhaps struck out again. But Daniel's mood changed when he realized that he was talking to someone who had not heard any of his stories. "And she's older than anyone in this room," he said, quickly.

Nayar, anxious to converse, explained that he wasn't really sure how old he was but he'd lived here for decades. Maybe. "It's hard to keep track of time now'a days," he chuckled. "The weather's always the same and I'm gettin' on in years." Daniel acknowledged the old man's comments, but the moment an opportunity presented itself he went back to his tale.

"She was named that because of how she was built," Daniel said. Rennie and Bosche' were seated nearby. They groaned as Daniel began his story, and moved to other parts of the large lobby. Daniel did not seem offended, or to even notice their departure.

"You see, when she was first built she was actually a little white doll about this big." He held his hands a couple of feet apart. "And she was a _novelty,_" he explained, although he wasn't sure at all what a _novelty_ was.

Nayar looked the Machine over. He had seen a few like her before, but they had been torn and wrecked, talking nonsense as their ancient programming malfunctioned.

"Well, she ain't no little doll nomore. Ain't too white either," the old man said with a snicker.

Daniel held up his hands for patience. "I will explain. See, she's one of a kind."

Nayar interrupted him. "We use'ta have some Machines when I was a boy. Folks kilt 'em and tried to use the batteries to run other stuff. But that didn't work. Sumthin about the polarity… or parity or sumthin."

Daniel fixed the man with a sour look. Nayar had to laugh. He was glad to have people around again, especially a youngster. Little ones were rare now.

"Ok, boy," he chuckled, relaxing on an elbow, "Tell your story."

So Daniel did tell his tales. In a short time Nayar was following every word, carefully, as the boy explained the Machine's function and her special programming.

"You, see, it was the 'Sho-pan' that made her different," Daniel said.

Nayar squinted a shaggy grey brow, "The what, boy?"

"The 'Sho-pan'," Daniel repeated. "It's music from a long time ago. Even before the robots. It was made for piano, and it was hard music, not just because there was a lot of notes, any robot can play a fast notes if they get programmed for it. But it was the _dynamics_ that made it hard for the Machines to play Sho-pan music." Daniel hoped the old man wouldn't request a definition of 'dynamics', it was another one of Uncle's words he'd never really understood.

Nayar just nodded his head as if he understood completely. He was sure that eventually he would.

"Doll doesn't play from programs, like other Machines. She has…" Daniel hesitated. He knew the proper phrase, '_variable interpretive inflections_', but he was hesitant about using another of Uncle's phrases, lest the old man ask for an explanation. "She makes stuff up like you or me would, " he said instead.

Nayar hummed at this thought. "Well, Danny-"

"_Daniel_," the boy corrected, stiffly.

"Right, right. Daniel. Well, I don't really play nuthin'. I had a gittar and a little drummin' machine a few years back. But the battries ran down. Ya ever hear one of those?"

Daniel rolled his eyes. Nayar tolerated the boy's rudeness with gentle humor. It was good to hear a little one's voice again, but he was starting to understand why the others had left.

Daniel continued. "What I mean is that people react to music on a level that Machines can't… except Doll. She can actually hear music the same way we do. She can _feel _it!"

Nayar wasn't too sure about this difference. He scratched his head to show his lack of understanding.

Daniel sighed. "See, there was a man who built a robot that had emotions," he said.

Nayar nodded quickly. "Yeah, the little baby robots. I heard 'bout them a long time ago."

"Well, they weren't babies," Daniel corrected. "The first ones with emotions were built like children, but they built old people too."

"Old people, huh? Like me?" Nayar chuckled.

Daniel missed the humor. "No… younger than you, but close." He said, shaking his head.

Nayar laughed again. Daniel pondered the man's reaction for a moment. Then he gave up and continued.

"So Devimbi went to meet the American, and they started working together. The American wanted to start all over… from the beginning, see? But Devimbi said no, because he had put too much time into Doll already, and didn't want to start again..."

**6**

…_so the men came to a compromise. _

_Her small body was much too limiting for the extensive changes they needed to make. But this form had come to represent something very special to her creator, and he had been unwilling to begin the entire process from scratch._

"_But this is the best way," the American insisted. "There have been so many advancements since this simulator's design, all of the synapse triggers and neural feedback filters you've used are obsolete! Not to mention the size aspect! Making her mobile will be impossible in that little frame."_

_But Devimbi remained adamant. In as much as what the Porcelain Doll represented, he had come to love her; to see her as more than just a clever trick. To start over, creating a brand new set of neural-simulators with a brand new face would be the same as abandoning her. He would never do that._

_This had been the first disagreement the men had encountered in their new relationship. But it had not lasted long. The American found an answer, one that had been right in front of them all along._

_When he told Devimbi of his idea, the man had not reacted. He stood quietly, thinking, gazing out of the great windows of the American's laboratory, into a grey downpour of rain. _

_Believing that he had hurt Devimbi's feelings, the American started to apologize for making the suggestion. But Devimbi suddenly turned and smiled. A tear had formed in his eye. _

"_Yes," he said, " Yes, we can do that."_

**7**

"They copied her body from a woman that Devimbi knew," Daniel explained.

"So, that's when she turned all big and brown," Nayar chuckled. Daniel nodded.

"She was made to look like Devimbi's wife," he explained.

Nayar looked appraisingly at the quiet Machine. Doll noticed the man's gaze, and stared back. After a moment, a serene smile broke on her face. "Divmeebee was a lucky man," The hermit said.

"_Devimbi!"_ Daniel corrected him quickly. "And I wouldn't call him lucky because his woman was gone away, see? That's why they made Doll look like her. She was…"

With a start Daniel realized the part Uncle had omitted from the story. "She was dead," he said pensively, finally understanding the meaning of the garden where Doll was supposed to have played. "They must have put her in the ground there," he whispered to himself, remembering the way the Tribe had sent Uncle to the Shadows.

Nayar sighed and shook his head, confused by the boy's sudden introspective mood. Weren't kids supposed to be more fun? Especially boys? As he remembered, they liked to throw stuff, tackle each other and break things. This boy was more serious than the grim adults he traveled with.

"Danny… uh, Daniel…" he said, "it's late. That's a damn good story, but I think I'll get me some shut eye. We'll talk in the mornin', Okee?"

Lost in his thoughts, Daniel acknowledged the man's words with a wave of his hand. The men across the room snickered as Nayar excused himself and raced to the storage room where he slept.

**8**

_As the boy shares her story with their new host, Doll recalls images from centuries before. But her awakening into the realm of cognizance is as far removed from her mind as the first moments of life are removed from the memories of the humans around her. _

_Suddenly she was. _

_It is that simple. _

_As time flowed by, fragments of its passage remained, eternally juxtaposed against each new moment._

_When the strange new person walks away, and the boy snuggles close to her, closing his eyes for the night, she recalls the excitement and revelry that surrounded her so long ago; the lights at the foot of the stage and the dark space beyond, from where the sound of applause rose in waves. They loved her._

_Her creators had come to the podium then, to explain her, to detail the special nature of her performance to the crowd of collectors and designers, traders and lovers of music. But they had not only come to adore her. They made futile bids for her possession, and tried vainly to acquire the secrets of her design. _

_But there was only one thing that she needed, one thing that made her more than a distracted observer in this incomprehensible world of shifting forms and faces._

_Centuries beyond the time of these memories, sitting in the darkness of an abandoned sky scraper in the company of nomads, with a sleeping boy in her arms, Doll recalls the flood of sound that birthed her, and the sounds that she, subsequently, birthed into the world._

_No one hears her sigh._

.


	7. Chapter 7

**The Porcelain Doll**

**Chapter VII**

**1**

The dawn struggled over the stubborn cloudbanks and hills, to finally alight on the quiet city. The stark light of its stare was interrupted occasionally by a wisp of cloud, but soon warmth ensued, slowly thawing the layer of snow that had fallen during the night.

Nayar was the first up. Ordinarily the Tribe would already be packed and on the road, but they lay abed, relishing in the simple comfort of warmth and sleeping surfaces that weren't covered in dirt, or ice.

Nayar went out to rummage up a quick breakfast for his new friends. There was plenty of food left. These coptes had been designed to store enough for entire towns. But he had a lot of new mouths to feed. He surveyed the stacks of containers. They'd be alright for a while yet, months at least. Maybe as long as a year, if they rationed right. But eventually he'd have to look around for more.

And if there were no more?

In his long years of solitude, longevity had never been an issue. He had lived only to survive until the next day. He had never imagined leaving this place, so making future plans had not seemed important. But with the arrival of the Roamers, everything had changed. He had found out that he was not alone and now that thought brought another grateful tear to his eye. Being with the others filled him with a new, indescribable excitement.

But there was a part of his mind that still harbored doubts. How did he know he could trust these people? For now, while there was no lack of supplies, it was no matter. Would they change, though, when supplies dwindled? The idea troubled him.

But he had seen something in Parker's eyes, something that said the man had seen enough fighting, enough cruelty. He was a good man, Nayer could tell. But what would he think if he knew about…

Nayar quickly shrugged the thought off, and went back to stuffing his pack with protein bars and mineral sticks.

"That was a long time ago. I ain't like that no more," he said to the crisp air. "I ain't like that," he repeated slower, feeling stronger at hearing the words resound against the aeroplane's metal walls.

As he walked back to the building, a thought came back to him. It was something he recalled seeing long ago, when the group he traveled with had first found the abandoned city. He went to find the boy.

**2**

Daniel sat up with a frown, his face lined with creases from his blankets. "What?" he groaned, perturbed by being broken from his dreaming.

"I was thinkin' bout that story you told last night, Daniel," Nayar said. "And I think I know where there might be one of them ol' pianos your Machine lady plays."

Daniel was instantly alert. "Where?" he asked, jumping from his bedding and slipping into his pants.

Nayar started to answer, but noticed that Doll was looking directly at him. The strange new intensity of her stare made him pause. There was something behind that gaze, something that sent a shiver up his back.

Some of the Tribe were sitting up now. They were still groggy after their feast from the night before, but excited by the prospect of actually hearing the Machine woman do whatever it was she did.

"Where!" Daniel asked again, irritated by Nayar's silence.

Nayar turned to Daniel and winked a furry eyebrow. "Let's eat. Then I'll show ya."

**3**

As they moved through the ruins of the city, the wind hissed through the broken windows of empty buildings and whipped up snow devils, spiraling frosty ghosts that ran up the dead streets and dispersed into nothing. Nayar walked with Daniel in front of a small search team consisting of Parker, Mak, Emre' and Bosche'. There could be dangers in the city, so the men had decided to go along with Daniel and Nayar while the others relaxed in their new warm dwelling. Bosche' had decided to tag along at the last minute, but primarily out of curiosity.

Doll walked quietly beside the men, her face fixed in some new expression, one that even Daniel could not read. Her white dress, faded and dirty from their travels, left soft trails in the snow behind her.

Nayar stopped often to scratch his head, trying to summon his memories. It had been a long time, a decade perhaps, since he had seen the place. At the time it had meant nothing to him, so he had not made a mental note of its location. He led the group through the dead thoroughfares, assuring them about his recollections with much more confidence than he felt.

They did, eventually, find the building he remembered. By that time the sun was mid-sky. It had taken hours of searching, and the trek though the maze of empty towers had been a haunting experience for them all. As the men stood before the crumbled building, Emre' laughed and pointed towards a familiar large structure near a broken roadway.

It was the building they were now calling home.

It was less than a few blocks away.

They had traveled in a huge circle.

The old hermit turned red with embarrassment, apologizing profusely for leading the group around in this way. "It's been so dang long since I seen it," he explained, "and my memory ain't what it used to be." But the men didn't let their feelings reach their faces and Daniel was too excited to care.

Nestled between two of the empty towers, the building was a squat two stories high and covered by a layer of ancient debris. It looked more like an insignificant pile of snow-covered rubble than a place where a rare artifact might be found, but Nayar insisted that it was indeed such a place.

"This building is a lot older than my place... uh, _our_ place,' he said. "Probly goes back to before the Machine people." He glanced at Doll when he said this, but the Machine was consumed with something else, and did not acknowledge him.

Parker scanned the ruins cautiously. Could anything inside still be intact? "How do you know the piano is in there?" he asked.

Nayar shrugged and said, "Well, I aint' sure, but…" He pointed to a deteriorated chunk of material that lay crumbled at the front of the old building. It had once been a marquee. Corroded lettering was stuck to its broken surface. Parker looked at the thing for a moment and then his face pinched in embarrassment. Nayar quickly realized what the expression meant.

Daniel innocently came to Parker's rescue. "Sa-voy Re-con… Reconstruction?"

"What does it mean?" Mak asked.

"Don't know," Nayar said, "but the part that ain't messed up says 'live entertainment'. Should be some kind 'a music stuff in there, eh?"

Most of the men grunted in agreement with the old hermit's simple logic. But Emre' wasn't so excited about this venture.

"This place looks pretty broken up, Parker," he said cautiously.

Parker quickly conceded Emre's point. But he was curious about Doll. As tedious as Daniel's stories had become, they'd sparked the man's imagination.

"If it gets dangerous, we will leave," he assured Emre'.

The men scoured the building for entry, kicking away rubble that might have lain undisturbed for a century or more. It took them some time to find an entrance and when they did, piles of trash and snow had to be cleared away. Doll stood patiently in the snow-laden street, fingers dancing at her sides, as the men heaved the wreckage away from the entrance. Daniel stood by her side, once again recalling the violence the crazy men had done to the museum, and thinking he might understand why this one was so damaged.

"I don't like this," Parker grumbled. The opening they'd found was facing the street, set back under an overhang that bore the large withered sign. "We've seen other places like this. They fall sometimes."

"Well, why don't we check it?" Emre' suggested.

The men went about trying to get the large marquee to fall. They threw large rocks at it, beat it with long metal poles that had fallen from the body of the building. They even hoisted Mak onto the top of the thing and had him jump up and down to check its foundations. But even Mak's weight could not bring it down.

"It looks safe enough," Parker said finally. Then he turned to Daniel. "But you stay out here, Daniel, with your-"

"No!" the boy shouted. "I want to see!" he said. Parker was about to scold this insubordination when Bosche' stepped forward. "I'll stay outside," he offered, and grasped the Machine woman by the hand. She did not protest. "I hate these dark places," Bosche explained.

Parker eyed Daniel for a moment, his expression stern. But Daniel just stared back, undaunted. The Chief sighed, and decided he could handle it later. He nodded, and turned back to the ruin.

"Let's see what's inside," he said.

They slid beneath the canopy, stopping at a dark, broken doorway that no man had crossed for longer than any of them had been alive. It spread the length of the crumbled building and was surround by a barricade of broken glass. The doors that had once held this glass were now just rusted metal frames. The men peered into the darkness ahead.

There was a sudden commotion from behind and they turned to see Bosche' struggling with the Machine woman.

"No, Doll. You wait out here," Daniel yelled. To their surprise the Machine continued to resist, gazing around curiously, as if it recognized this place.

**4**

_Had she been in this building before? The shape was triggering multiple responses in the deep recesses of her digital recollections. No. Not this place. But there were so many like it. The history of such places played inside her brain as the nomad boy pulled her away. His actions created a new, cold feeling inside her__. _

**5**

"What is wrong with it?" Emre' asked when Bosche' had finally managed to pull Doll back onto the street. Daniel could not explain. He'd never seen her act like this. The men shrugged off the strange confrontation with the Machine, and went back to the task at hand.

Parker pushed on the mangled metal doorframe and the others followed him into the musty corridors of the past.

The place was dead. The air hung thick and strange acrid smells rose from the black interior. The walls were swollen, as though a force had smashed them from the outside, and water from snow melt had eroded large holes in the body of the building.

"I can't believe it's still standing," Parker whispered, as if speaking loudly might cause something to fall. "We'll need light."

Emre' and Mak quickly produced small orbs. Parker snatched Emre's and clicked it on. "Hold onto yours, Mak," he said, and rolled the other into the room. In the dark hallway beyond, they could see the remains of what might have once been plush carpeting. Broken picture frames clung to the warped walls, and elaborate lighting fixtures, ruined and missing sections, hung from the bowed ceiling.

"This is not good, Parker," Emre' said. The ceiling was damaged and looked ready to fall. But Parker could see the metal skeleton of the building holding firmly above its water-damaged flesh.

"I think we'll be ok," he said, hesitantly. Nayar grunted an agreement, and the men worked their way slowly into the grand hallway, past the ancient wreckage into the sagging and ruined interior.

There were pictures on the walls, torn and dusty in their ruined frames. Daniel took in the images as he trailed behind the men. Elegantly dressed men and women were depicted smiling as they clasped one another, frozen in the midst of an intimate moment. One woman, with bizarre curls on her head and a dress that seemed to sparkle like stars, held her face high and her mouth was opened wide, as if she were in pain. Daniel realized that the woman was supposed to be singing and that the others must be dancing. He wondered what kind of things had gone on here.

Nayar seemed to read his mind. He whispered, so not to disturb the silent ghost of the place. "This was a 'theater', Daniel, a place where people did music and dancin'. They used all kinds of musical things, like those pianos that your Machine lady plays. Or so I been told."

They heard Bosche' swearing in the street outside, and shared a laugh. But then a soft, breathy sound, like a sigh, made them all turn. Doll was standing in the hall, her hands clasped together over her chest. Silhouetted in the cold light from the doorway, she looked fragile in a way that Daniel had never seen.

"Was that the Machine?" Emre' asked, surprised. He had never heard it make a sound before. No one had.

Bosche' stepped up to the entrance behind Doll. "She pushed me down!" he yelled, angrily. His face reddened when the men laughed.

"Doll, go back outside," Daniel ordered. But to all their amazement the Machine only made a disappointed face, and would not move.

"Go ahead, Doll," Daniel repeated. "We'll get the piano for you!" he added, cheerfully. Finally the Machine woman took a hesitant step backwards and then slowly turned and retreated into the grey daylight. They could see her just outside the entrance, pacing back and forth. Bosche' watched her anxiously.

"Will she stay now?" Parker asked. He was about to send the boy out to watch her. Daniel sensed this.

"Yes," he answered, quickly. "I'm sure of it." It took a moment before Parker accepted this.

They came to a place where large, two-sectional doors lined the wall. Parker lit another orb and carefully opened one of the doors. He tossed the light inside and watched it roll down the declining floor. The searchers emitted sounds of awe.

The proportions of the room were massive. Rows of empty seats filled the place, interrupting the glow from the orb, casting great shadows against the walls where they could see complex designs carved into the material. A large, dusty ornament hung over the empty room, twinkling in the faint shifting light of the orb. Elaborate designs were painted on the wide ceiling.

"This is where people put on the shows," Nayar explained. He turned to smile at Daniel who was still staring in awe at the large empty theatre. "Nothing bad about your lady, but I mean _real_ people like us, ya know."

"I know about that kind of show," Daniel replied evenly, although he had never imagined what a theater looked like. Uncle had told him about the grand past of the theater, about the performers and musicians that Machines, like Doll, had been designed to replicate. But by the time he had been old enough to understand such things, the museum had been looted and he had never seen any pictures of such places.

At a grunt from Parker, they continued making their way into the ancient concert hall. The dark expanse around them seemed filled with an inert force, the ghosts of dead encores.

There was a sudden rush of activity among the men ahead, and Daniel found himself grasped quickly by Mak, who was rushing back up the incline towards the big doors.

"What happened?" he asked urgently as he was carried away.

"Relax, Mak," Parker called. Daniel thought he heard a chuckle in the man's voice. Mak stopped running and turned. But he would not go back down the aisle. Daniel struggled free from Mak's grip, wondering what it was that had scared the big warrior. He could hear the others whispering and Emre' began laughing out loud, but was quickly shushed by Parker.

"Come back, you big fool," Parker scolded. "They can't hurt you."

Mak hesitated for a moment longer. Then, with a sigh of resignation, he headed back down into the room. Daniel followed and was shocked to see a group of white faces with giant toothy smiles and huge empty sockets for eyes. There must have been a dozen of them sitting in the center of a row of chairs. As he looked around the place he noticed more of the strange masks, spread throughout the theater, and wondered why he hadn't noticed them before.

Nayar clucked his tongue. "You see a lot of 'em 'round these old buildin's," he said dismissively. "Lotta folk just up and died where they was sittin' I guess."

"What are they?" Daniel asked.

"They used to be people," Parker said softly. "A long time ago."

Nayar looked at Daniel, confused. "Ain't you never seen a skelton, boy?" he asked.

"Don't ask," Emre' muttered.

Daniel studied the bones closest to them. So this is what had scared Mak? "They're in the Shadows now, huh?" he asked Parker. The man patted Daniel on the shoulder. "Yeah, they're gone for the long sleep." He said.

"They should not be here like that," Mak grumbled. "It is a bad omen."

Emre' shook his head. "Even the boy knows they are harmless," he said, and turned to continue the search.

"Maybe we should have brought in Bosche', instead?" Parker teased. Mak shot him a sour glance. But his face softened into embarrassment, and he made no more fuss about the bones.

"This must be the stage," Nayar whispered when they had reached the bottom of the declining aisle. They crawled onto the large, upraised area and moved across the dusty, rubble-laden floor. Parker retrieved the light and held it out to the darkness beyond.

The orb lit a jumble of ruin. There were wires and shattered machinery that hung in large coils from the ceiling. Huge rolls of frayed cable were connected to large oblong tubes with shattered glass at either side. All of it was covered with dust and white powder that must have fallen from the rotting material of the ceiling.

"We can go no further," Parker said. Daniel's heart dropped, but he knew the man was right. The pile of debris looked impassable.

"Lookie there!" Nayar blurted, gesturing to a dark point beyond the wreckage.

They all followed the old man's gesture and saw the vague outline of something in the shadows beyond the wreckage. Parker stepped cautiously towards it, and when his light fell on the shadows Daniel's breath caught in his chest. He knew that shape. It was the same shape as the thing that had been destroyed so many years ago. He let out an involuntary cry of joy.

"That's it!" he said excitedly, jumping and gesturing at the thing trapped in the ruination before them.

Parker cupped the orb in his palm, so the light was focused in one direction. What he saw was an aged, dusty oblong box. Its surface was black, and covered in dust and soot. The thing looked as though it might weigh a ton. "So, that's a piano?" he said.

Nayar walked up beside Parker and glanced a perplexed expression at the man. "It's big, eh?" he said, cryptically.

Parker nodded. How would they ever get the thing out of this mess? It certainly wouldn't be safe to bring the others into this deteriorated building. He didn't want to disappoint the boy, or his Machine, but this situation was obviously too dangerous. He turned to face Daniel with a look of apology in his eyes.

"But, we're so close!" Daniel objected before Parker had a chance to voice the words that were obvious in his expression.

"Daniel," Parker started in a conciliatory tone, "I am sure there are other places where we can-"

Emre' suddenly interrupted them, rushing to the foot of the stage, waving a signal to silence the others. "What's that," he whispered urgently, crouching low and gesturing for them all to hunker down. They followed suit, although they had not heard anything. There was only silence, broken by the raspy sound of old Nayar's breathing on the stage.

Mak snorted and started to chide Emre' for his overactive imagination. But Parker stopped him with an urgent wave of his arm. He'd heard it too. Then they all did.

At first it was just a faint noise, like water dripping somewhere deep in the theater. But in moments the sounds grew louder, morphing into loud, flat thuds that echoed in the ancient belly of the building.

"Footsteps!" Mak whispered.

Something had been disturbed.

For the first time since the battle with the cat, Daniel saw Parker in defense mode. He dimmed the light of the orb and jumped gracefully off of the stage. His hands moved rapidly as he signaled silent commands to the others. Emre' and Mak moved as if they had rehearsed this maneuver, slipping into an empty row of chairs, their hands moving quickly into their coats. He knew what they would withdraw. Just before Parker clicked off the orb, Daniel saw a glint of metal in the man's hand. Then it was just the blackness, penetrated only by a faint trickle of light from beyond the theater doors, and the sound of something approaching from the unknown bowels of the place.

Slowly, the steps moved into the darkness of the hall that ran along the edge of the theater. The sound changed to sucking, wet noises as whoever, or whatever, was coming, moved onto the soggy, ruined carpet.

Mak clutched his blade. This could not be a natural creature. It must have been hiding here for longer then he could imagine. But then again, he had been fooled before. He fought against the superstitions that plagued his mind and waited for the moment of revelation. Emre' didn't care what it was that came for them, only that he was prepared for the challenge, which meant being still in body and mind. His breath was calm. His mind settled. He was ready for anything. Parker crouched near the edge of an aisle, peeking around an empty seat. In a moment he would be able to see what approached, silhouetted in the trickle of light from beyond the main doors. He raised his blade as the thing moved along the wall.

Nayar cursed himself as he lay in the darkness on the stage, trying to quell his ragged breathing. He fought the impulse to flee, closing his eyes and forcing himself to stay quiet. It had been years since he had said a prayer, but now his thoughts fell back on the words he had been taught as a child. Silently, his lips moved in recitation of a verse, and …

"_Choo!"_

He sneezed.

The footsteps stopped.

Parker swore under his breath, wondering how the old fool had managed to stay alive so long.

Nayar pinched his nose tightly, to keep from sneezing again. But his hand was covered with dust from the stage, and …

"_Choo!_"

Daniel waved his arm, angrily, in Nayar's direction. It was a futile gesture in the dark, and much too late. The invisible stranger was on the move again, and now its footfalls were now headed for the stage where Daniel and Nayar lay hiding.

Parker heard the change of direction and prepared to make his move, fearful that it could be some mechanical sentry, perhaps a discarded Smart Soldier, protecting its territory. He rose silently, his blade on hand, cocked over his shoulder for the strike.

A voice broke though the darkness.

"I'm sorry, but at this time the theater is closed and I'll have to ask you to leave. Let me thank you for attending our show," The voice boomed in exaggerated cheer, then continued in an informative tone. "There are refreshments and restrooms in the lobby! Please enjoy a buttery 'Pop-n-Hot' popcorn bucket and a nice cold Medi-fresh Cola on your way out! That's Medi-fresh, the taste treat that's good for you too! Goodnight!"

No one moved.

"I said goodnight," the voice repeated cheerfully. "And thank you once again! The theater is closed at this time and-" the thing was interrupted by a sudden flash of light that erupted from behind a row of seats.

On Parker's signal, the men, and gasped at what was illuminated in the silver glow.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we _are_ closed. I want to thank you for coming to our show. There are refreshments in the lobby," the thing said. It went on to suggest that Parker avail himself of a variety of "refreshing taste treats", the rotting remains of which had probably withered to dust long before any of them had been born. Its 'skin' was pale and ragged, hanging from its face in thin, brittle layers. The dark colors of its uniform were coated with a powdery white substance, and torn, revealing worn flesh and bits of metal infrastructure. Its arms lay limp at its side as it advised them again that they should go about their business, assuring them that the Savoy had been happy for their patronage.

Emre' let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. "It's a damned Machine," he pointed out unnecessarily. Mak stood, shaking his head, hands on his weighty hips. "That's twice these things have fooled me," he grunted in disgust.

Parker rolled his eyes and sheathed his blade. "Damn to you, Machine!" he yelled in frustration.

"Thank you, sir!" the ruined face responded, a smile in its voice that its lips could no longer convey. "I hope you enjoyed the show, but I'll have to ask you to leave now!"

Daniel was grimacing at the grotesque face of the Machine when he heard a wheezing sound behind him. The boy turned quickly to see Nayar, eyes closed, face red, clutching his stomach and rolling back and forth in the dust of the old stage. Daniel had heard such sounds before. Uncle had made those sounds, just before he…

"Nayar?" Daniel said urgently. "Parker! Something is wrong with Nayar!" But the boy was shocked to see Parker laughing, and Emre' and Mak sheathing their weapons, plopping down into broken seats, their faces twisted in laughter. The sound echoed throughout the large room. None of it made sense to Daniel. He shook his head, perplexed by the behavior of the men.

"Hey, Danny!" Nayar yelled, and Daniel turned with an irritated expression on his face.

"The show is over now, son," the old man said. "You'll have… you'll have to go now!" He broke into another bout of wheezing laughter.

Daniel stared, uncomprehending. The show was over? What was that supposed to mean? Then something occurred to him. It was rather odd, wasn't it…a bit of a strange situation? They had thought something was coming to kill them; had been scared to the point of hiding in the dark. But when the thing finally arrived it had only been…

Something bubbly happened in Daniel's stomach. It was followed by a strange noise that erupted from his throat and nose, surprising him. It happened again, a moment later, and then he began to snicker. Before he had a chance to comprehend what was happening he was overcome by the sensation.

Parker's laughter had finally subsided when he looked on the stage to see Daniel rolling alongside the old man, their faces red and hands clutching their stomachs. "Well, look at that," he said to himself. Then he began to laugh again.

"We have to go now! The show is over!" Daniel bellowed, sounding more like a boy than any of them had ever heard.

**6**

The Usher had been awaiting the show-time call for longer than the combined histories of the men in the room. It had sat in the darkness, with the calm patience of an immortal, waiting for the call to duty. Its functions had set to standby, so its batteries would not have to be recharged. Sounds of activity in the theater would ordinarily wake it, but it had been long since it sensed anything but the occasional crash of something falling as the building slowly deteriorated. Upon each investigation, the old Machine had only found a new pile of debris beneath the place where some piece of machinery or ornament had once hung from the ceiling, or protruded from the warped walls. So it had gone back to sit… and wait.

Once the Usher had heard laughter. It was an unordinary sound, mean and spiteful. It had gone to investigate, and then found itself set upon by men with angry eyes and thin, emaciated bodies. The usually patient Machine had been forced to usher the intruders from the premises and, typically with such manner of customers, they hadn't been too receptive to this idea. But The Usher had been designed to handle such situations. It was well equipped for the challenge.

When the job was done, the Machine had returned to its place, sitting in dark, awaiting the audience.

And now they had arrived.

But the lights were down and the performers gone.

Apparently the show was already over.

**7**

"How long you been here?" Nayar asked the Usher. The robot's broken face reacted in exaggerated expressions of pondering. Its brittle 'skin' made a rubbery stretching sound as it put its hand to its chin in a simulated gesture of recollection. Its chipped blue eyes stared blankly into space.

"The restrooms could be closed for cleaning, sir," it said finally. "Let me check with maintenance." The Usher stood very still, its gaze distant. Daniel groaned at the torn face of the Machine, but Parker and the others exchanged amused glances. The last robot they had seen had been in much better shape.

The Machine finally raised its deteriorating head. "I'm sorry, sir, I can't seem to raise the maintenance crew at this time. Perhaps you would like to enjoy some refreshments while you wait? The 'Pop-n-Hot' corporation is a proud sponsor of the Savoy! Please help yourself to a hot and buttery bucket of old style popcorn!"

"This is no good," Parker said. "This thing is a mess."

"What's a 'Savoy'?" Daniel asked. Then he winced and stepped back as the Usher turned its ruined face in his direction.

"Welcome to the Savoy!" it bellowed, dramatically, through peeling lips. "Come in and see the golden age of theater recreated in magical precision! Tonight the cast of the Savoy is proud to present an award winning stage adaptation of the 21st century classic, _Supertoys_!"

"Useless," Parker repeated. "We have to go."

"Please, Parker!" Daniel said, and deployed the pained expression. "We came all this way. At least we can try."

Parker looked away from the boy's imploring eyes and cast a glance at Mak and Emre'. The two men shrugged to let him know it was his call.

Parker climbed back up onto the stage and Emre' climb up quickly behind him. Ignoring the old usher's complaints, the men worked their way slowly, carefully past the wreckage of ancient stage equipment and scaffolding to the place where the relic sat. They fell into the task with all their might, tugging and pushing on the heavy music box while the rotting wooden floor squeaked and moaned under the pressure of their efforts.

But a groan from the hanging array of scaffolding made them jump away and one of the loose tubes fell from the vine and struck the piano, producing a discordant note that rang through the auditorium...

**8**

… _into the hall, and out into the daylight beyond, where it echoed through the street and into her ears. Doll stopped pacing and stared at the door. Had the others seen her face at that moment, they would not have known her. That sound called to her heart from across an expanse of time that would drive any mortal mad to know. As would her longing._

**9**

The Usher had been preparing to take far more extreme measures to clear the auditorium when it heard the discordant notes ring out. "Please take your seats," it announced. "The show is about to begin. Doors will close in five minutes,"

Parker swore as he and Emre' carefully worked their way back to the lip of the stage.

"Dang thing still works, I guess," Nayar said.

Parker nodded and jumped down from the stage. "Yes, it works," he agreed. "But we'll never get it out of this place. I can't risk anyone getting hurt." He turned to Daniel. "Sorry, boy", he said.

Daniel grabbed Parker's coat, pleading. "But, there's got to be a way. Maybe we can take all that junk down and-"

"Forget it," Emre' snapped, jumping down from the stage and heading up the aisle. "This is ridiculous," he yelled over his shoulder. "All this work for a stupid Machine!"

"And you're so smart because you can read some old signs?" Daniel snapped back. "Doll's smarter than you will ever be!" Emre' turned and advanced on the boy, his arm raised to punish this insubordination. But Mak quickly stepped between them. "Check yourself," he barked at Emre'. The two exchanged glares.

"Stop it!" Parker yelled. This endeavor was building tensions and he had to put and end to it. He turned to the boy. "Daniel, this will not work. Emre' is right." But he stopped short when the doors behind them suddenly opened. They all looked up the aisle to see Doll standing there, her lean frame silhouetted gracefully in the stark light from outside. After a silent moment, the Machine woman walked quietly into the theater.

"No, Doll!" Daniel ordered. "Go wait outside!" he yelled at her, waving his arms as if to ward her off. But she did not obey.

Doll walked calmly down the aisle, towards Parker and Emre', who stood aside to let her pass. The Machine woman had always done what the boy had told her and they were fascinated by her willfulness. They watched curiously, noting the way the Machine wrung its hands, as if it was nervous.

"Doll, go back! It's dangerous in here!" Daniel yelled, but Doll continued steadily toward the stage. Daniel approached her, to make her obey. But she evaded him by sliding down one of the rows of chairs. The boy pursued the errant Machine as it rushed away from the light of the orb and into the darkness at the side of the theatre.

"Daniel, be careful over there!" Nayar yelled. Parker started to pursue the pair, but then he saw Doll reemerge from the darkness, onto the stage where she walked cautiously towards the wreckage where the piano sat. Daniel rushed onto the stage after her.

"Hey, there was steps over there," the boy said. "We could have …" but he quickly turned his attention back to his misbehaving Machine. She was moving into the debris, past the wreckage on the stage, making her way towards the piano.

Parker ran back towards the stage when the boy tried to retrieve his errant Machine underneath the dangling metal tubing. "Don't go back there, boy!" he commanded.

Nayar rushed down to the lip of the stage, alarmed. "Don't, Daniel!" he yelled. "You'll get hurt!"

"She'll get broken!" Daniel replied angrily. But then he stopped and scanned the loose scaffolding that hung above the stage. The men were right. "Doll!" he yelled. "Come here, now!"

Then he fell silent and they were all transfixed by a sudden wash of sound as Doll placed her fingers against the dusty keys.

**10**

_The piano was old. It must have been a long time since it was last tuned. The notes were muffled by the dust and garbage that covered it. But even in its discord, the sound filled her. _

_Some of the strings were broken. Doll heard the absence of notes within the chords and her mind adjusted for them, instantly reframing the tones at octaves or spelling the intervals in alternate harmonies. An electronic sensation of joy and meaning filled the place where her heart would have been were she flesh and blood. Her fingers danced across the playing field, igniting a fire of impassioned notes. _

_The sound brought on memories that fired her emotional triggers. She recalled opening her eyes on that fateful day when she had first become acquainted with the mystery of sight; of color and form. The poetry of symmetry was something that she had suddenly been able to process in this new body. And she recalled the man, Francis, and the wetness on his face when she had first opened her eyes on him. It was his tears that had greeted her into the world of sensation. _

_The music had taken on a new quality then, one that sent thrills into her brain. It had become more than numbers, something vibrant, and filled with new, incomprehensible meaning._

_This meaning burned within her now as she played for this small, ragged audience. The Machine that passion had wrought now brought to life the music of the lost age of its birth._

**11**

Nobody spoke while Doll played. It was a language of such complex beauty that they all had become lost in its interpretation, and dared not make a sound. Daniel realized that Uncle's stories could never have, prepared him for this moment. Doll was transformed before his eyes and ears. Her face was alive, her expression that of fire and anger as the music first tore into the room; followed by an inexplicable longing that played across her brow as the notes changed in tempo and tone. She closed her eyes and her fingers moved with impossible grace and speed over the old keys. Her precision was programmed and had not waned in the decades away from her device. She held her head back so that her long, black hair danced around her frame. Her mouth opened as if she was about to scream, but the only sounds were the notes that were drawn into the world by her manipulation of the keys. Only minutes had passed, but to her small audience it seemed as if Doll had made time stand still.

They did not know it was a 'crescendo' that rose from the keys at last; such language and understanding of music was rare if not lost altogether in this dying world. Her fingers spanned the length of the keyboard and a flock of arpeggios escaped at their beckon, free at last after centuries of dusty hibernation.

When, at last, the final chord was struck, it hung in the air for what seemed minutes. Doll sat at the piano expressionless, until the last reverberation dispersed into the fabric of the building. Then she stood and slowly made her way through the shaking scaffolds to the edge of the stage.

The men were shocked again, this time by the strength of her voice, which rang clear as a bell in the room. It was the sound of a woman who had passed into the Shadows centuries before.

"That was Etude number 4, opus 10 by Frederic Chopin," Doll announced smiling. Hands folded against her chest, she began to bow, as if to a large gathering of applauding fans. But her audience was still quiet, staring spellbound.

"Well, _that_ was something new," Emre' conceded softly.

"Angel," Mak whispered in reverence.

Daniel didn't know what to say. He realized that he had never really known her at all.

"Thank you for attending tonight's performance!" the Usher said, breaking the spell that Doll had cast on the room. "Please help yourself to a nice buttery Pop-n-Hot on the way out."

Parker ignored the broken Usher and stepped towards the stage. He regarded Doll seriously as she continued bowing to an invisible audience. Something in the wash of sound had moved him in a way he could not express. He turned to see the boy beaming with pride.

"I _told_ you!" Daniel said, his hands on his hips and a smug smile on his face.

Parker could only laugh. "Yes, you did, Daniel" he conceded. Then he looked back at the piano playing Machine woman. She was now looking back at him, and Parker would swear that her eyes were alive in a way he had not seen before.

"Ok, Doll," he said. "You win. I guess we'll have to find a way now."

.


	8. Chapter 8

**The Porcelain Doll**

**Chapter VIII**

**1**

Parker stood on a make-shift podium of snow-covered debris, outside the crumbling building where the Machine had shocked him and the others with her performance. "This will not be an easy job," he said.

The Tribe stopped chattering and gave the Chief their undivided attention. Their curiosity had been piqued after hearing the story of the old robot usher, and of Doll's amazing trick. They also noted how strangely the Machine woman was acting now, how it seemed to twitch nervously, as if there was something that it must attend to.

Daniel had strutted like a little rooster, repeating the story again and again, until Rosa and Malin tackled him and tied a rag around his mouth. Ish voiced her concerns when Parker told her about the old machinery dangling above the piano. She had serious reservations about their plan to retrieve the relic. But when Emre' and Mak joined the chorus of support, her imagination had been fired.

"We are going to have to be very careful," Parker continued. "The music box is in a dangerous place and we can't let anyone get hurt. But Nayar has an idea."

Nayar took to the podium, looking as frail as a withered old tree. All the walking and excitement of the last couple of days had had an effect on him and his breath came in gasps that frosted in the air. He gazed nervously at the expectant faces of his new friends, suddenly unsure of his plan. Something might go wrong. That had happened before.

"I think we can build us a ramp," he announced after a moment. He then proceeded to explain his strategy.

**2**

Daniel and Malin, the smallest of the tribe, stayed outside with Doll while the others moved into the darkness of the old building. They lit their way with orbs and torches, clearing away debris as they passed, making a path so the music box could be extracted after it had been freed from the stage. The sections of the ceiling that hung low over their heads were torn down or prodded with sticks until they were certain that the material would not fall. The large doors to the auditorium were pulled off their hinges, so they would not close behind the Tribe. Daylight flooded into the theater as the people worked their way into the building.

"That's it," Parker said, pointing to a large black object beneath vines of metal that dangled over the stage. "That's what we've come for."

The Tribe sounded objections. The box was obviously too big to move safely.

"Don't give up before we start," Parker yelled over their complaints. "We'll make a ramp from these," he said, kicking at large wooden panels that lined the floor. "And we can slide it down to the next level and then up between the seats."

A potent silence ensued as the Tribe finally noticed the dead white faces scattered throughout the theater. In his excitement, Parker had forgotten to mention the skeletons. He made an apologetic shrug, "I forgot." he said.

Mak cluck his tongue. "What're you all scared of?" he asked with a disgusted look on his face.

But Ish was not concerned with the remains. "How is this to work?" she asked. "Even if we can get the thing out from under that mess, these seats are too close to move anything between them."

"One thing at a time!" Parker snapped back. He worked his way carefully past the dangling metal beams and underneath the spiraling latticework of ladders and hanging things whose purpose he could not imagine. In a moment he was beside the piano.

"See! It can be done!" he yelled.

"Shhh… Parker!" Emre' hissed. "You'll bring the whole thing down on us."

The young men joined Parker on the stage. Cautiously they began to work the piano towards the edge, stopping at each creaking complaint from the scaffold vine above. The artifact squeaked and moaned as the men struggled, but as they persisted the old casters began to roll. They had worked to piano to a point where the scaffolding cleared, when some of the metal pipes came loose and clattered to the floor around them. They jumped away, but the avalanche never happened. After a lot of clattering and yelling, the place was silent again.

"This is dangerous, Parker!" Otter complained. The other young men of the tribe nodded in agreement. "Why are we doing this, anyway?" he demanded, "For some noise?"

"It's not just noise!" Parker said, loosing his composure. He regained it quickly and gestured to Emre'. "Tell them,'" he said. But Emre just looked away, waving off Parker's plea.

"Otter has a point, Parker," he said.

"I think we can do it," Nayar offered weakly. He was afraid of his plan failing.

Then they were all startled by a strange, cheerful voice. "I'm sorry, all loading vehicles must be parked in the back of the building!"

They turned to see the Usher approaching. Those who had not met the thing gasped at its ruined flesh.

"That's just the old Machine I told you about," Parker said.

"I repeat, For the safety of our patrons and performers alike, management requests that all loading be done at specified docks!" the Usher boomed, pointing towards the darkened area from where it had come.

Nayar had a sudden thought. "The show is done, now, Machine," he said to the Usher. "We came for the piano, but the loadin' dock ain't no good." He pointed to the front of the building. "How do we get out that way?"

The Usher was quiet a moment, its face twisted in a grotesque simulation of introspection. "I will prepare the dance floor," it said finally. "Please clear the premises." They could hear its footfalls as it made its way into the depths of the building.

Parker sighed. "Good try, Nayar," he said, "but that old thing is useless." He moved back into the tangle of hanging tubes. "If we are going to move this thing, we'd better-"

A sudden quake shook the building. The ancient walls grumbled and groaned, clouds of white dust fell from the ceiling. The men leapt from the stage just as the scaffolding began to rain down in a cacophonic din.

"It's coming down! Get out!" Parker yelled, jumping from the stage and dashing up the aisle towards the light from outside. But the others needed no orders, they were already running for their lives as the structure shook and groaned all around them.

Parker reached the door quickly and turned to make sure everyone was out. But Nayar was ambling shakily up an aisle, pulling madly at chairs to keep his balance. Parker started to move back down the aisle, to help the old hermit. But then he saw something that made him freeze. The chairs were sinking into the floor! The old brittle skeletons that were spread about the room seemed to be doing a bizarre dance as they folded and broke under the weight of the collapsing seats.

"Faster! Nayar!" Parker yelled, horrified. "Faster!!"

Nayar's heart raced in terror; he had seen buildings collapse before and the memory forced a scream from him. The sound was deafening but he could hear Parker yelling at him.

From outside, Daniel could see the dilapidated framework of the old building trembling. Material from the broken ceiling was falling and crashing onto the floor. Ish ran from the building and fell to her knees, breathless. Otter came next. Then Tomas and Rennie dashed out into the daylight, Coco, Mak and Emre' quick on their heels.

Where was Parker? Nayar?

As if in answer, the two men erupted from the door, just as the old broken marquee began to grumble and moan. Parker waved them all away, urging them farther from the building, fearful that breaking wood or metal might splinter and send shards into the gawking Tribe. But Nayar could run no further. He fell to the street, wheezing, and covered his head. The others spread out, moving away from the building as a warbling, mechanical groan erupted from its belly. Daniel grabbed Doll's arm and forced her back. He had heard the unmistakable popping of wood and a discordant clanging of metal inside the place and his heart dropped. It must have been the piano.

"I'm sorry, Doll," he yelled over the turmoil.

"I warned you, Parker," Emre' yelled, pacing in quick circles to shake off his fear. "We could have died in there!"

Parker gritted his teeth and was turning to reply when, as suddenly as it had begun, the quaking ended. In moments the echoes of the buildings turmoil faded. Only the sound of a few falling tubes could be heard inside the place. The Tribe was wordless, astonished that the ruin was still standing.

"What the hell was all that?" Otter' asked, his breath still heavy.

Nayar uncovered his head, giggling from the tension. But his nervous laughter stopped when the others did not join in. He was expecting them to start yelling at him at any moment. The failed plan had been his, after all. But he was surprised and relieved when Otter walked over to help him up. He rose, unsteadily, and muttered a weak apology. But the young man didn't seem concerned with laying blame.

They all walked slowly back towards the doorway, expecting to see the halls filled with the shattered remains of the ceiling and walls. But nothing had changed. Then they all saw the wrecked face of the Usher making its way from the shadows into the stark daylight. It smiled a torn greeting, which was more disturbing in the glare of sunlight, and cheerfully addressed the confused people.

"The dance floor has been prepared, sir," it said to Nayar. "Welcome to the Savoy Reconstruction Project's Old Time Dance Night! Come in and experience the glamour and romance of Ballroom Dancing!" Then it bowed low, its arms held out towards the theater, beckoning them to return.

Parker walked cautiously towards the building and then through the door. He navigated carefully to a point where he could see into the auditorium, and gasped when he realized what had happened. Where there had once been declining rows of chairs, now lay a black, flat surface, covered with debris and scattered bones. Faintly outlined in the light of the torches, which now lay burning on the floor, he could see the that the whole room had changed dimensions. The tubes from the fallen scaffolding no longer loomed dangerously above the piano but lay all around the area in a mess. The floor had risen. A path had been cleared.

Parker turned to see the Usher standing close behind him, waiting, it seemed, for his next request. So, it wasn't as useless as it seemed.

"Let's go get this thing," he said to his men. They hesitated, waiting for someone to object. But eventually they all followed their leader into the now quiet Savoy.

**3**

Retrieval of the artifact had still been difficult even after the Usher triggered the device that leveled the floor. They had had to clear away all the wreckage of the fallen scaffolding and large metal barrels that had dropped from the ceiling. Fortunately, the piano had suffered nothing more than a few more scratches on its already dented exterior. They rolled it carefully out of the theater-turned-dancehall. Then they slid it onto a sled, hastily constructed from boards that had been broken from the walls. It took all their combined effort, but they managed to slide the artifact over the snows and into the glass doors of their new home.

Amazing them with its strength, the battered Usher had finished the last part of the journey almost by itself, dragging the big box noisily into the lobby of the building they called home. It then suggested that they enjoy the show, and reminded them that the piano was to be returned back to the theatre at the designated time. None of them understood this and Parker said it was best to ignore the Machine's comments. Then they gathered around the piano, watching in fascination as the Machine woman fussed about it.

Doll worked carefully, wiping dust away; cleaning grit from the keys and strings. The piano made sounds as she worked, and the people came closer, drawn by the odd quality of the noise. The Machine said something quickly to Daniel, who seemed uncomfortable with her new willfulness. The boy turned and spoke to Nayar, who pondered the words a minute and then went out to the fallen transport. He returned minutes later with dusty plying tools. Doll examined the tools for a moment, calculating how they should be used. Then she began to tune the instrument.

**4**

_The sound was like the first breath after a suffocating silence. The ringing of each note, even though muted with age and corrosion, set off sparks inside her brain; lights that illuminated the darkened corners of her recollections. She could never forget, no, but things were often set aside once their relevance had been exhausted. Now her programming was reasserting itself._

_She tuned the device quickly as the people in the room gathered around her. Their eyes were curious; expectant. She had seen this look before. She knew they were anxious, but she took her time with the old strings, allowing them to warm in the heat of the building, running her fingers along the old coiled strands to feel for weaknesses or damage. She turned the ancient bolts slowly. Her special ears were programmed to hear when the string tension was becoming dangerous._

_**5**_

Time passed. The people grew restless. They retrieved food and sat to eat, whispering among themselves as they waited for the show to begin.

The Machine finally rose, and turned to face them. Her smile was no longer vacant and her eyes roamed over the faces in the room, acknowledging each of them with an impossibly human gaze. It was the first time most of them had heard her speak.

"Thank you for coming," Doll said, her hands folded against her chest. "I have some special pieces to perform for you tonight."

The Tribe gathered closer, making a tight cluster around the Machine and her strange instrument. Daniel rushed forward, yelling. "No! Sit down! Don't crowd her!"

They regarded him coolly, but Parker called out for them to listen to the boy. "He knows what he is talking about," the man assured them. The group took cross-legged positions on the floor, watching carefully as Doll sat at the keys.

She was quiet a moment, as she decided what piece would be appropriate. After a brief silence she looked up. "I believe I will began with a piece by Frederic Chopin known as Fantaisie Impromptu."

She struck a solitary note. The sound resounded throughout the room. Then she set her hands to the keys and the notes came like falling snow. The music seemed to press into the air of the place, filling every corner with a flood of sound. Within moments, something like magic began to happen in the minds of her audience. Soon it began to happen in their hearts.

Her performance was the result of …

**6**

_… magic that had been performed on her._

_Music was tied inexorably to the state of conscious interface with the world known as sentience._

_Feeling. Being._

_Consciousness._

_Were such things possible in artificial intelligence? It had been the dream of science since before the advent of modern robotics to replicate that process known as life. But those indefinable qualities of being: feelings, inspiration and will, were all so vastly removed from the linear rules of binary processing, that they remained ever illusive to the builders of A.I._

_The American, like Devimbi before him, had sought to jump that hurdle. He had developed an imprinting process that would create an emotional bond for a human in a Machine. Through this process a virtual heart could be opened in the minds of his devices, bonding them to their owners for all their lives through the simulation of that quality of living things called "love"._

_Could this be the key to that illusive property called consciousness?_

_The first time Doll had played after her transformation, the notes had spoken a new language. She had actually stopped playing after only a few bars during that first encounter with this new dimension of feeling._

_Devimbi and the American had expressed great excitement when she had stopped and stared at the keys, her eyes wide and uncomprehending._

_Then, hesitantly, she set her fingers to the piano again and the men had ceased to exist, along with the rest of the world, as the music took her, filled her, as she now filled the senses of this small huddle of nomads, one of the few remaining in a world once teeming with their kind._

**7**

As the intensity of the piece grew, the Tribe was exposed to so vast an expanse of feeling that they had been in constant awe of the simple breadth of the emotion; the harmonics that rolled out around them, the twinkling melody dancing on the sparkling notes, the intricacy of which was barely discernable in the beauty of its design. The very body of sound, the complex combination of overtones that created the sound called "piano", suggested unknown vistas within. It seemed inconceivable to them that simple sound could move them so.

They flew with the music, out over the frozen, barren world, to a warmer time, when the ruined cities had been alive with the pulse of aspirant dreams. Then the music slowed and spoke a melancholy; of a time when recollections were a mixture of both hope and grey foreboding. These were thoughts and feelings impossible to express in the language of daily discourse.

When the music was over, they found themselves sitting, once again, in a tired old building while a flurry of snow fell outside. The spell was over, gone with the sound. But they were changed somehow. They had witnessed a thing revived from a grand history, and it would forever affect them.

The boy began to smack his hands together and the others turned to look at him curiously. Then the old man, Nayar, began to do this also. Daniel stood and beckoned the others to do the same. Parker joined in and soon the entire room was hesitantly applauding, wondering at this ritual.

Doll stood and bowed, then waved an arm to silence them. She was eager to play again.

"Thank you, thank you so much," she said, humbly. "I would like to play for you a very special piece of music, now, one that has a special meaning." She paused then, as if reminiscing. "This is the Largo from Sonata #3 in B minor. Opus 58."

**8**

_This was her special piece of music. It had also been special to the woman in whose likeness she had been embodied. It was the piece that, in her first incarnation, Doll had played as a daily lament to that woman: Devimbi's fallen love._

_For that reason her creators had chosen this soft sonata to be the final test. They had removed all dramatic suggestions from the version programmed in her head, leaving her to decide where to put emphasis; where to soften or strengthen her manipulation of the keys; where the ebb and flow of the tempo would take the melody._

_She would be allowed to decide what to 'say' with the music._

_And though her first attempts at interpretation had been less than the men had hoped for, she had not disappointed them either. She was, however tentatively, expressing some internal conflict within the parameters of sound. It was the first time in history that a machine had done so._

_They would have been encouraged to hear her play this piece now. Something new was in the flow of notes; some un-programmed feeling was being expressed within the framework of the gentle, rolling melody. In over two and a half centuries the piece had changed. Matured. Evolved._

_Every other piece in her head was predefined in its execution; variable interpretive parameters had been set for the dramatic articulation of every note in all but this one mourning melody._

_The men had intended to program more works for her interpretation, but fate would not have it so. Unforeseen circumstances had stopped the project, devastating events that would become a recurring theme in Doll's long and tremulous life. These were events brought on by passions alien to her, primal passions that drove humankind to build empires from the very flesh of the earth, and then to knock them back to the ground._

_As the years passed Doll had performed her task for numerous skeptical collectors and aficionados, and she had left them all wanting more. But soon there had been only empty seats at her performances. Confusion and hushed whispers were all around._

_Then, one day her creator had not come for her and she had been forced to flee into the dark tunnels of escape. She had been sitting quietly in the laboratory that day, waiting for the moment when she would be allowed to play again. Then the American had arrived with others, men whose faces she had never seen before. They all had that curious twist of the brow that displayed the excitement called "worry". The men had argued for some time and then whisked her away, out of the stark white laboratory and into a craft that had taken them into the skies._

_"It is no longer safe," these new faces had explained as they flew her from the site of her awakening. Then she heard the explosions and saw the fighting below. She had been rescued from that madness, taken to safety and, in time, allowed to play again._

_It was all that mattered to her then…_

**9**

…as it was now.

Her audience was listening raptly to her rendering of the piece. It was spirited in a manner that, though enjoyed, was not fully appreciated by any of them.

Except one.

The man was not in the room with the others. He listened from a distance, undetected by the entranced Tribe. He was hunkered down into a snow bank in the cold darkness outside. The music was muffled by the glass doors but he was tantalized, amazed by the sound. He didn't hear it quite the same way as those dark figures stretched out along either side of him.

"What is that?" one of the others asked. The man ignored the question. He held up his hand to shush the other, and listened carefully as the music flowed into the night. Eventually the piece was done and the man sighed. He turned to face the one who had spoken.

"How many did you count altogether?" he asked the heavyset, bearded man who knelt in the dark beside him.

The bearded man thought. "Ten and two, Prescott," he responded.

"Did you count the boy?" Prescott asked.

There was a hesitation. "He's just a boy," the other said.

"Not exactly what I asked, is it?"

"No, no. I didn't count the boy," the other said apologetically.

"Ok then, that's thirteen. And how many are women?"

"Only … uh…" the man counted on his fingers. "Four!"

"Well, then, we may still have a sufficient advantage," Prescott said. "Never dismiss any factor in your calculations, Paul. Nothing is insignificant."

"Sorry," Paul said humbly.

"As to your question, that sound was a special language," Prescott said, as he crawled from the snow bank, away from the building. The others followed, moving stealthily through the dark. When he was well away from the glow of the building's lights, Prescott stood and brushed the snow from his heavy jacket.

"It says many things, Paul," he continued, "most, I am sure, beyond your limited comprehension. But the most relevant thing it speaks is nostalgia. It does so quite well, mind you, and I am quite certain that it was no human hand upon those keys, as much as I am certain that the Machine performing those pieces must be among the very few left on the planet." He paused a moment, and his thin face flickered with something the others did not understand.

"But it is nostalgia none the less," he said, grimly, "a preoccupation with things gone by, Paul. Dead things. A preoccupation that we will take advantage of." Prescott's expression brightened and he smiled at his men as he turned to leave. "But not tonight," he said, walking away. His men followed quietly.

"Tonight we rest. We will return at a more appropriate time and…" He stopped and lifted an eyebrow as the sound of the piano came to life again, twinkling from the building and out into the dead streets.

"And the next time we'll bring Tank," he said.

The shadowy figures slipped quietly through the dark, snow covered streets, making their way back to the building in which they camped. It had been a long trek from South City. They were hungry and tired. They needed rest before taking care of any new business.

.


	9. Chapter 9

**The Porcelain Doll**

**Chapter IX**

**1**

Scattered throughout the devastated regions of the south, pockets of humanity struggled in the grip of new merciless climates, flocking to the high grounds that the rising oceans had not yet drowned. Storms arose seemingly from nowhere, wreaking havoc in the tower towns, those rusted hulks of dead cities where people made homes in the old skyscrapers. The storms followed new chaotic patterns, dispersing as rapidly as they had formed. Ice-plains laced what were once the warmest regions of the earth, killing off the food chain, starving the animals and destroying once fertile farmland.

The numerous tribes had only one hope of survival: cooperation. Their greatest challenge was to overcome the timeless differences that had separated them, those racial, cultural and religious barriers from which wars had sprung, entrenching the minds of humanity further into their separate hemispheres. Their challenge was to work together as a unified society, to brave the effects of centuries of abuse and reckless pursuit of power.

They had not met that challenge.

The drives of greed, the greatest of the seven passions, had proven an insurmountable obstacle. Where tribes had gathered together and negotiated terms of peaceful co-existence, ambitious men had come to divide them. They were clever provocateurs, who encouraged jealousy and suspicion, those vile, crimson emotions from which fear flowed, from which conflict and violence flowed; emotions that burst from the hearts of humanity and spilt like blood over the face of the gasping planet.

This was where Niccolo Prescott made his bid to power.

Born into one of the last of the great families, Prescott had watched his wealth and status disintegrate with the civilized world. He watched clods and parasites rise to power, men with little or no education, and no understanding of the way in which the world really worked. They had pursued futile goals, in his mind: communities based on cooperation, honesty, and a naïve sense of justice. He had done his best to stunt this rising social trend, but eventually he had found himself thrust among these barbarians, forced to struggle alongside people whom he felt should rightly be begging his favor.

Then the Raiders came.

Though their sensibilities were more suited to his, these men were no better than the ideological clods that had ruined his family. Prescott was still cast among the rabble of society. But he had not tolerated that circumstance for long.

He deserved better.

He _was_ better.

His campaign for power was ruthless and violent. It was also short. Had he the men sufficient to the task, the endeavor might have proved successful. But at least he survived.

Now, in exile with the handful of loyalist he had left, Prescott made his camp in the bowels of an ancient building in another of a series of broken cities. Their flight had brought them north, across the frozen hills, headed for a place that they had heard tell of, a place that was warm, where plants and animals thrived, and better yet, where trade and barter could still make a man wealthy.

Yesterday they had chanced upon resources that would sustain them for a long time. The only problem was a tribe of nomads camped in a building next to the bounty.

But that problem would be short lived.

**2**

"And what would you with her do then?" Prescott asked distractedly, as he toyed with a small black box. He only did this to keep his mind occupied for there was certainly no way he would be able to repair the object. He had found it in an old museum, and tampered with it for weeks as he and his men traveled along the frozen paths of the world, looking for a new home.

Paul made a blank face for a moment as he considered his response. "Well… I could impress her… tell her about the time I killed those guys up at the silos…or the time I boiled that ol' guy for crossin' the pass without payin' the tax."

The other men were strewn around the room, rolled into their blankets, bracing against the cold that seeped into the room in spite of the fire they had built.

"And you imagine that she'd be impressed with your wanton disregard for life?" Prescott asked, still consumed with his toy.

Paul shrugged. "Well, then I could show her my marks, eh." He rolled up his sleeve and displayed the aged scars for the others to see. They ignored him, having seen the marks numerous times before. Undaunted, the burley man hiked up his coat and displayed the fresher wounds from the skirmish in South City, just months prior.

"There! That'd show 'er I wasn't the messin' type," he said, and laughed. He laughed alone, however, and the laugh died quickly.

"Paul," Prescott said after a moment, "the only way you could successfully bed any woman is to court her in the same manner our earliest ancestors were portrayed as pursuing their mates, and that is to drag her by the hair, kicking and screaming, into your cave. It would seem an appropriate approach considering how poorly removed you are from that primal state, and because you, too, reside in similar accommodations." Prescott's pale, angular face was expressionless as he spoke, giving Paul no indication of his seriousness or levity.

"The truth is, my most incompetent accomplice, you'll probably never see a woman of the type you sweat over in your feverish imaginings. I doubt there are any left." Prescott leaned back and looked the man in the eye. "The world is just too hard on them nowadays. There might be a few well cared for Machine whores, perhaps, hidden away in the secret abodes of those who have managed to escape our detection… but that is another matter."

Paul let his fur down and settled back against the wall. "You guys are a bore," he muttered. He didn't understand half of what Prescott said, and wasn't sure he liked the half he did understand. But the man knew what he was doing, even if he had made some mistakes in South City. Everybody makes mistakes.

One of the others rose, a gaunt man name Kotch, with a scraggly beard and a haggard look. "I don't care about no goddamned women!" he yelled. "When are we gonna waste those roamers and take the supplies?" The others sat up, grumbling in agreement. They were dirty and tired from months of incessant travel, huddled around the fire for warmth. Their eyes burnt on Prescott. He didn't return their gaze.

"Rations are getting' low," said one, a young man who'd joined Prescott's campaign late in the game, only to find himself fleeing for his life when the coup failed. "What're we waitin' for?" asked another, a gruff old Raider who had stolen his fair share of goods from helpless travelers and finally found himself on the run from his own kind. The men started discussing these issues; their voices rose and filled the room as they argued strategies of attack, and what tortures would be suitable for the Roamers once they had been defeated.

Prescott sighed. These are my soldiers, he thought, the rabble of the world. He sighed and placed his useless toy on the ground. Then he kicked it into the fire where it began to sizzle and finally exploded with an electric blue spark. The men were silenced by the sound and turned to watch the old processor melt, leaving only a few strands of blackened fibers that quickly turned to ash.

"Do you know what that was?" Prescott asked. No one spoke. They didn't know what the box was for, but they were sure Prescott was aware of their ignorance. He would tell them anyway; it was his style.

"Well, that useless piece of plastic and fiber used to hold more information than the sum of all of our combined knowledge put together. That is perhaps not a considerable amount, even including my somewhat more substantial resources, but nonetheless, it was a feat of years of development, the end result of centuries of trial and error." Prescott paused to let this point sink in. "Now, however, it is just so much plastic junk. All the data that was compressed into that tiny box has lost its meaning, become irrelevant."

Prescott stood and stretched his thin frame. He needed to bathe. He hated being in this condition. He looked down at the men, hiding the sneer with which he regarded them from behind his gaze. They didn't seem to care what condition they were in or how rank their quarters became with their reek. He cursed himself for challenging the rule of Smith in South City. He cursed himself for enlisting aide from the ragged band of misfits and disgruntled recruits in his ill-fated coup. He dismissed their loyalty. Of course they were loyal. What choice had they?

Prescott continued, his voice rising with his ire. "It is irrelevant because there is no one left, at least no one I know of, who knows how to access its contents. Pitifully, after numerous attempts, I must include myself among the ignorant horde.

"Perhaps this faceless little box had information we could have used. Maybe it would have explained the process by which we might have revived the mechanical brain of the city. Maybe brought it to life. We might have even built our own little kingdom, my loyal troops, my fellow exiles, with the information unrevealed from the pit of that little black box!"

Prescott went into his pack and retrieved another small black box, another he had found in the museum. He unwrapped the find carefully from the protective cloth in which he carried it.

"We do, however, have _this,_" he said, and held the processor up in the wavering firelight. "And its design is more relevant to the task at hand, more relevant to our immediate concerns."

They had chanced upon the old museum just over a month ago, and taken shelter there from a storm. The place had been obviously occupied not too long before they had arrived. Days perhaps. So they'd assumed whatever treasures it might have held had already been found. But he was glad that they had searched anyway, for they'd found a room in the back, a secret room. On the door to the room a glorious battle had been etched, and the words scrawled in the door had immediately caught Prescott's attention. He knew that language.

"Always faithful," he had read aloud, triggering the sequence that unlocked the door and allowed him passage. Inside the chamber he had found the special processor sitting in a casing with instructions for its use.

He had found something else there too, another artifact; one that he wished he'd had in South City.

Now Prescott crossed the dusty, rubble-laden room and knelt before this other, special device. It was seated in a fetal pose against the wall, its head hung between its knees, the simulated musculature of its body, tightly clad in the ragged and torn remnants of a dark uniform.

"Tank," Prescott said gently, as if talking to a child. Tank responded by lifting its head. Its eyes were blank, staring at the empty space before its face. Its hard features expressed nothing. "Set," Prescott ordered. Tank obediently bent its head back, exposing its throat, which only appeared vulnerable. Prescott pressed his hand against Tank's chest and pushed down on the upper ribcage, triggering a process. He then cupped his hand around Tank's lower jaw and pulled up quickly. Tank's inner face was revealed from behind his mask of flesh simulation. The Machine's real face glinted in the firelight; its metal coating reflected back the dance of the flames against the walls.

The men in the room moved back from the sight. When had Prescott learned this trick? The man smiled at their amazed expressions. "Oh, the benefits of literacy, eh?" he laughed. The men didn't understand his statement and he didn't bother to explain. It didn't matter anyway. He turned back to his toy, turning his back on them.

"You may have noticed, my addled entourage, that something is wrong with the weather," Prescott said over his shoulder as he slipped the special processor into an opening in the Smart Soldier's head. When the box was set, the faceplates clicked back into place. Tank's expression was no longer lifeless.

"You may have detected inconsistencies with the patterns of weather at this time and at these times over the preceding years. I do not know the level of your awareness on these matters. But if you have noticed these unfortunate advents, you might have concluded, as I, that perhaps much of what we do now is folly."

He stood above his Machine. "Attention!" he ordered, stepping back as it lifted its mechanical bulk and snapped to its ready position; its arms held firmly at its sides, its muscular chest thrust forward. Its expression was suspicious, now. Dangerous.

"You may have concluded, as I, that there are forces at work that will make all of our efforts of survival and domination vain," Prescott continued, as if talking to himself. He smiled at his new toy. He would have loved the old world, the one that now slumbered all around them, buried beneath layers of ice and rubble. He believed himself a man born too late in the scheme of things.

"But folly has been such an integral part of our shared history that perhaps we are in the process of honoring an old tradition."

Prescott nodded to the wall against which the Machine had been leaning. "Tank! Through!" he commanded suddenly.

The Machine turned quickly and thrust its arm forward. The powerful blow smashed a hole into the brittle material of the wall. Prescott laughed wildly as Tank smashed at the wall again and again, filling the room with powdery debris and the sound of the aged interior of the building breaking under the assault. The men yelled complaints, moving away from the chaos. In moments, Tank was finished, having created a hole large enough for a man to walk through. Prescott's laughter subsided as the Machine stood at attention, awaiting further commands.

"Will you turn that damned thing off?" Paul complained. The others agreed loudly, beating dust and debris off of their hair and clothing. Prescott sighed in satisfaction.

"To answer your questions: When the time is ripe. We take the nomads when the time is ripe and not a moment before. I've learned from my mistakes in South City. Our numbers are close. They have the advantage of two, but those are an old man and a boy. I do not know the strength of the women, but we should not underestimate them."

"And we must consider, however unlikely, the possibility that they have guns." He patted his machine on its massive shoulder. "But then, they don't have Tank, do they?" he said. "And they assume that they are alone out here. So, we have the element of surprise on our side. Perhaps we won't have to kill them all." He turned and winked at the men. "At first."

The men voiced their approval of this plan, and then proceeded to clean up the mess from Tank's display.

Prescott removed the processor from Tank's head and carefully placed the device in his bag. Without it the Machine was docile, running only on its most basic drivers. The ancient Smart Soldier, one of the few left in the world, sat back in a fetal position against the smashed wall. It tucked its head between its knees and waited until it would, again, be called to duty.

Prescott unrolled his bedding. "Perhaps tomorrow night we'll take care of business," he said, remembering the music he had heard dancing on the night. It was going to be interesting to meet the one who played those notes.

"There may even be one there I would be interesting in sparing," he whispered, and bundled tightly in his bag.

.


	10. Chapter 10

**The Porcelain Doll**

**Chapter X**

**1**

_Doll didn't know pain. Not in the same way as the organic people around her. She did not flinch as Ish forced the brush through the tangles of black hair that cascaded down the length of her body. Although Doll was not used to such attentions from these people, she was not afraid. She knew the 'dangerous' faces; she had seen them before and recorded their parameters. These women's faces didn't hold that danger. Nor did they express the suspicions they had during the journey over the mountain paths. The faces of Ish and the two women who sat nearby and eyed her curiously, held something she had not seen for ages, not since the time the multitude had admired her from beyond the lights at the foot of the stage She saw admiration in their eyes. Reverence._

**2**

"You must be with us in the Basin, when the season changes," Ish said to Doll as she brushed tangles from the Machine's hair. With Rosa and Malin's help, she had cleaned the Machine. They had wrapped her in a fur while they took her flowing white dress into the snow and washed the grit of the path from it. Somewhow an extra coat had been found where none could be found before, and it was wrapped over Doll's shoulders to keep her inner mechanisms warm. Gloves had been found for her hands, which the Tribe now saw as precious.

"In the Basin you can perform on your box, and make coin for the Tribe," Ish said. She paused a moment. "You are part of the Tribe now, right?" she asked. Rosa and Malin nodded their heads in unison.

Doll considered this question. She cared only for her device. It was the music alone that was her reason for being. "I wish only to play," she responded. Her words were not as programmed as the women assumed.

Ish smiled and resumed combing. "That's good, then. You play. We eat. No problems."

Daniel did not like the tone of this conversation. He was standing outside the circle of women, watching as they fussed over Doll. These were the same people that had ignored Doll all along the snowy paths they had traveled to get here. He frowned as they spoke of their plans for his rare and precious Machine.

"How will you get the 'box' to the Basin?" he asked, not bothering to mask the sarcasm in his voice. Ish looked over her shoulder at the boy. She recognized the expression in his face and winked at Rosa and Malin, who glanced at Daniel and chuckled.

"You are maybe upset now that your 'Doll' is not for you alone, little one?" Ish asked as she struggled with a matt in the Machine's hair.

"My name is _Daniel,_" he reminded her through clenched teeth.

"You are yet a little one among us, Daniel," she explained, not looking at him. "There are responsibilities we all have to each other. When you understand the responsibility, then you are closer to being a man."

Daniel's would not tolerate this woman's presumptions. "What do you know about me?" he said, his face reddening. "I have been with her since I was little! You think now, because she's here, you own her? You don't own her!"

Ish smiled patiently at the obstinate child, but her eyes expressed authority. She set the comb down and gestured to him. "Sit," she said, patting the floor next to her. But Daniel just glared at her. His chest heaved. He did not move. Ish patted the floor so hard that the sound reverberated in the room. "Come and sit. We will talk," she repeated in a stern voice. But Daniel just thrust his chin up and put his hands on his hips.

Rosa and Malin snickered, eyeing the boy with something between amusement and admiration.

"So you are 'Daniel', not a baby, but you act like one?" Ish asked. "If you want I can come over there and _make_ you sit," she said. Her eyes told Daniel that she was not making this statement lightly. He stepped forward, reluctantly, and sat down heavily beside the big woman. He rolled his eyes and tilted his head impatiently to the side. The other women shook their heads, no longer amused by his behavior.

Unconcerned with the boy's attitude, Ish wrapped her arm around his small shoulders and pulled him close. Daniel wasn't in the mood for this intimacy, but was too intimidated to object. He also had Parker to consider. The man had warned him before.

"When I was a girl, my big brother fell into the ice when we crossed the Great North River," Ish said. "Then I was expected to be master of the other children and responsible for them." Her face grew pensive in the reminiscing. "We took a day to cry for my brother and feast to his name. But after we crossed the river, I could cry no more. We had a long way to go.

"This was when the seasons had just begun to go wrong. Every year it would be worse; the winds would come earlier than before, and the snows, too. Soon the animals were dying and we had nothing to eat." She looked away, a gentle sadness on her face. "We ate the dogs then. It was not easy. They were our friends."

Ish smiled as she spoke, but there was a sigh behind her eyes, a moan from childhood wounds that had never really healed.

"We had a Machine man. Nothing at all like your beautiful lady here. . I think he had been made to load things onto the transports before the Big Fight when so many Machines got destroyed. One of his legs was not working right and he was made noises when he moved… and his head was broken open like that old Machine from the show house.

"His brain worked ok, but there was so much he didn't know. Ah!" she laughed. "And we could never teach him anything. So we used him to carry packs and pull the sleds. I think we traded him for meat after we got to the Great South River where it was warmer. I don't know what they did with him. They had big auctions back then, where they traded the old Machines they caught in the forests. Some people used them for mining or digging up the old buildings from the ice to see what they could find. Maybe he was bought by one of them, I don't know.

"But I do know he never cried for my brother. He never felt cold or pain or hunger. He never had to hide when ice fell. And I know he never wondered what happened to the world. He only did what he was told, or he would just sit and stare at nothing."

She fixed Daniel's eyes. "You don't like the way I think of her, little one, no? You don't like that I will use her to bring money and food to the Tribe?"

Daniel did not reply, he was still angry. But he was listening now. This was the first time Ish had talked of her past and he was intrigued in spite of himself.

"In the old building where we found you, there was nothing," Ish continued, "If we had not seen you, you would have joined Uncle, in the Shadows, and your machine lady would just sit in the dark until someone else came and took her. Maybe she would be digging in the ground now, with the other old Machines. Or maybe, if her skin did not crack in the cold, or her beautiful hair fall out, she would be just a toy for the humping. She looks very good for that, no?" The other women snickered at this, but Ish silenced them.

"You know nothing of this, I can see," Ish said. "Maybe your Uncle did not show you enough of the world?"

"Uncle was good to me!" Daniel objected, his anger rising again. Rosa and Malin glanced at each other and wordlessly decided that this was a matter for Ish and the boy to work out. The two rose silently and went to other tasks. Ish waited for them to depart, then she turned her attention to the boy.

"'Uncle' hid you away in an abandoned building full of useless things and told you nothing of the world!" she corrected. "You didn't even know enough to care for yourself when he died! You had good fate with you when we came there, boy. We might have been crazy men, the kind of people who make slaves of little boys… or worse." She stared hard at Daniel. The boy returned the stare defiantly. But after a moment, he looked away.

Ish pulled Daniel's chin and forced him to face her. He struggled for a moment before the look in her eyes froze him.

"My Papa told me all about the Machine people," she said. "They were built for us to use, to make our life better."

"But Doll was not designed like that," Daniel insisted. He was on the verge of tears, but he refused to let her see that. "Doll is not a worker or a toy. She was not designed for common tasks. She is a work of _art!"_

"Can you eat art?" Ish shot back.

Daniel was undaunted. "She was made for more important things!" he cried.

"And what is more important than staying alive?" Ish yelled, angered at the boy's refusal to understand. Daniel's face reddened and a tear of frustration crawled into his eye. Once again Ish stared him down. She understood the boy had been isolated from the world and so never understood what survival was all about. He'd grown in his short time with them, yes, but not yet enough. She let go of his face and he turned away to wipe his eyes. The two sat quietly while their tempers calmed.

"We are not many, anymore," Ish continued, her eyes fixed on some point on the snowy horizon outside the window. "The seasons are gone now. Everywhere there is cold and snow. The animals die. The old storage tanks, like the one we eat from now, are few. The old man says there are more but I think maybe this is the last. Maybe… maybe soon, there is no food anymore."

She pulled her arm from Daniel's shoulders and resumed stroking the tangles from Doll's fine black hair.

"We will go to the Basin where there is still some warmth and people. Doll will play on her box and we will let people listen to her in exchange for food or coins or whatever they have to trade. This way we will build our new home and when that is done she will be yours alone."

Daniel's ire was rising again. He wanted to tell Ish that it wasn't her place to make the rules, that she couldn't decide the fate of he and Doll just because the Tribe had found him and fed him and….

S_aved _him?

In his anger he tried to reject the thought, but he couldn't. If they hadn't found him, what would he have done? Hadn't the Tribe accepted him without condition? Hadn't they looked out for him and made sure he was fed even when food was scarce? And what had they asked of him? To help build the fires and dig the squatting pits, to behave and follow his propers? Was that really so much?

He looked at Doll who sat quietly, letting the woman groom her. She hadn't cried when Uncle had died, had she? Uncle had never mentioned if she _could_ cry or not. Did she know what was happening to the world? Did she know how many people had sacrificed so that she would endure through all these years?

For the first time in his short life Daniel questioned his feelings about Doll, and his feelings about Uncle. The sadness of the man's loss touched his heart, but he instantly pushed it away. Uncle had told him that it was no longer safe to be a child. That he had to 'tough up'. Uncle had made everything seem clear and simple. Taking care of Doll was what life was about.

But maybe, just maybe, the old man had left something out of his instructions.

Daniel looked curiously at Ish, this woman who had been the focus of his anger just moments before. She was like Uncle, in a way. She was sure of herself. She knew what to do at any given moment. How had she survived all these years of traveling?

"How come you don't have any other little ones with you?" he asked suddenly. He didn't know where the question came from, or why asking it made him feel grey inside.

Ish was quiet. She raised her head to look out at the snow-lined horizon, the blank expanse of lifeless white beyond the windows of their makeshift home.

"We _had_ little ones," she said finally, and a shadow crossed her face, just like the shadow he'd seen in Parker's eyes that night on the path. When she spoke again her voice was full of sorrow.

"Maybe, Daniel …there is no warm season anymore. No cities. No pigs or even dogs to hunt. Maybe soon, there are no _people _anymore."

**3**

Parker kicked a pile of debris from the walkway of another futile excavation, and worked his way back towards the light. Outside, his men waited anxiously. In between gusts of wind, they could hear things falling and being broken inside the dilapidated structure, as Parker cleared the path to the exit.

"We cannot stay here," Parker yelled as he neared the door.

Coco screwed up his face. "What? What's he saying?"

Emre' shrugged. "He's mad about something." He leaned toward the door. "Are you OK in there?"

"We'll never find anything here," Parker elaborated as he neared the door.

Since the first grey glow had broken the horizon, the men of the Tribe had been wandering the ruins of the city, seeking whatever nourishments may yet be found. But the journey had, so far, been fruitless.

"We've only been a few places, Parker," Emre' said, when he could see the man working his way from the darkness beyond the weather-worn entrance.

"We've seen enough," Parker replied as he struggled over the wreckage piled at the door of the building. When the old rusted door wouldn't give way, Parker thrust the bulk of his weight against it, breaking the door from its hinges to clattering onto the icy street. The men watched their Chief's frustration uneasily.

Emre' approached the man and started beating the dirt from his coat. "Why rush? We have plenty of food left. Enough to make it through the cold season, anyway. We can leave when the skies clear."

Parker huffed and waved Emre's hands away. He scanned the grey skies worriedly. "Yes, maybe, if we eat light, but it can't last forever. And there's no hunting here."

Tomas rolled his beard in his hand as he thought. "We don't know what kind of buildings these are, Parker. Maybe we are looking in the wrong places," he said.

Parker gestured to Emre'. "He read the signs. These were the food places, right?" He turned to the younger man.

Emre' nodded his head slowly, reluctant to concede the point. "But there are more, I am sure of it," he said. "We just have to keep looking." The other men agreed with this reasoning.

Parker looked away from them. Deep inside he knew there would be no more warm seasons. He knew that the older men, Tomas and Mak, must sense it too. But he was sure that the younger men would side with Emre'. He had to continue carefully.

"Ish wants to go to the Basin," he said finally. "I think it is the best way too. But that is a long road. And we have to bring the Machine's music box! That will take much time." Parker fixed the others with a serious look. "The pass may be blocked. There is too much snow! Too many storms!" He knew that he shouldn't let them see him this way, that he should always present a confident façade. But his uncertainty was growing, even in this time of relative prosperity. They had food and shelter. They had heat. But did they have a future?

"The snows will pass, Parker," Emre' said. "They always do, right? We can go to the Basin when the snows stop." The younger men nodded, confident with Emre's reasoning.

Parker forced a calm on himself. It was time to talk straight. "Yes. They always _have_, Emre'," he replied after a moment. "But things are changing." He looked to Tomas, Mak and Coco. They returned his grim expression. "You can feel it, you men. You know!"

Coco shrugged the point off. Mak looked away, crossing his arms as if to protect himself from this truth. Tomas started to respond, but in the end kept his mouth closed. He knew that this was really between Emre' and Parker. It had been coming for a long time now and he hoped it would not escalate here.

"You make things worse with this talk, " Emre' said. "The winds will die soon, and it will grow warm. In time we can-"

"We should leave and take the synthetics with us," Parker interrupted. "If the pass is frozen we will not have to hunt. There is probably nothing to hunt anyway."

Otter guffawed. "Those boxes are huge! How are we gonna take all that with us _and_ the Machine woman's music box? You must think _we_ are Machines, Parker!"

Mak waved his hand to silence the youth, who obviously didn't understand what was happening. He knew that this could turn into a challenge, and that was the last thing they needed. Rennie and Bosche' sensed the tension building beneath the debate, but didn't fully understand it. They stood quietly, watching.

Parker dismissed Otter's complaint. "We can use that Machine, the one we found in the theater. It was very strong. It pulled the piano almost by itself,"

"I remember, Parker. I was there!" Emre' responded quickly. "But that Machine is old and broken. What if it dies out there? Then what? We will be stuck with that stupid toy on the open plain. All that work for nothing?"

Parker's frustration rose to the surface, and he kicked a piece of rubble that broke against the wall of the building "What if this? What if that?" he bellowed. "It don't matter, boy! Can't you see? If we stay here too long, we are trapped!"

"This is a big place!" Emre' challenged, sweeping his arm at the multitude of quiet, grey towers all around them. "There are supplies somewhere! There have to be!"

"Why? Because you say so?" Parker replied angrily.

"Don't be a stupid old man!" Emre' said, too quickly and too angrily. "You'll get us all killed out there!"

Tomas was too late to intercept Parker as he moved on Emre'. In a flash, Parker was standing over Emre' like an angry bear, their faces just breaths away. The young warrior did not flinch at this intimidation, but neither did he rise to meet it. The others backed away anxiously. The younger men were surprised by the sudden severity of the confrontation. But the older ones had seen challenges erupt like this before.

Had the moment finally arrived?

"I am stupid now?" Parker hissed, jaws clenched jaws and eyes tight. "I have led this Tribe since before you were dug out of the snow, brat! You want to lead now? Then you learn to follow. You learn to think of the future!"

Emre' was smart enough not to respond when Parker got this way. But he kept the man's gaze, defiantly.

"What if we go through all the food while we are looking here?" Parker raged. "What if we find nothing? Did you think of that? What if the winds do not die and the snow does not stop and the plains are dead and we cannot find something to keep us going?"

Emre' finally looked away, fighting the urge to respond. It would do no good right now.

"Are you hearing me yet?" Parker yelled, raising his hand as if to strike the younger man's hooded head. But he stopped, his fist clenched and shaking. He let his hand fall and took a deep breath. "We _cannot _stay," he said. "The risk is too much. If you understood that then you might be ready to lead!"

Emre' let the anger roll off him, like so many times before. He could not challenge Parker this way. He knew that his own plan was the more logical. But he was still unsure of himself. He glanced at Otter, Rennie and Bosche', the future of their clan. Otter looked back, his chin up and an unspoken statement in his eyes. '_I'll back you'_ was the unspoken statement behind his eyes. Rennie and Bosche' seemed uncertain at first, but their faces hardened under Emre's gaze, and they stepped close to Otter who folded his arms defiantly.

But Emre' decided he could not force this issue.

Not yet.

He stepped away to show his acquiescence. The other young men dropped their heads silently.

Parker turned away, feeling the icy wind bite at his face. He breathed deeply, relaxing himself. This was his decision. He was responsible for all of their well-being. In his heart he knew Emre' was not yet ready for this duty.

"Nayar might not make it to the Basin," he said. "The old man has been hiding here too long. Maybe he is in bad health." The others did not contest this. "The boy, Daniel, he is young. He'll be ok. And his Machine listens to him. Without him… maybe she will not play." He turned and eyed them all sternly.

"We will start for the Basin as soon as the winds die and there is sunlight in the hills. We must protect the boy no matter what! If the machine will not play, dragging the music box will have been a useless task." He glanced at Emre'. "And I will hear no further argument on the matter."

Mak and Tomas glanced at each other, but said nothing. Emre' grumbled an objection, but only under his breath. The other young men cast their eyes downward. They had been ready to back Emre if he had made a challenge, but they too were uncertain. The older men knew the land. They had traveled the paths before. It was safer to trust to their lead, no matter how poor their choices seemed.

In the end no argument was offered. The challenge had been put down without a fight. Parker had claimed the responsibility of leadership and would be given his due.

"Let's get back to camp," Parker said and started walking away. He did not look to see if the others followed. He didn't have to. They fell in line quietly, their questions and doubts tucked away for the time being. The wind howled and blew an icy haze over the procession as they made their way through the dead streets.

But they were not alone. Their departure was observed from a distance. A thin, sneering man stood in the shadows of a ruin, quietly considering his options. Behind him, his men waited anxiously for the order to attack. Beside him a dangerous Machine stood patiently. Simulated sinew lined its thick arms. Its jaw was firm; its fists ready to inflict violence; its brain, always faithful to the one who commanded it.

"Not yet," Prescott said as he watched the men of the Tribe fade into the snowy gloom. "It will be easier when they are all together."

.


	11. Chapter 11

**The Porcelain Doll**

**Chapter XI**

**1**

_The wind howled into the night. The sky that loomed above was as dark as Doll recollections of her years in exile. So many indecipherable faces, those in the concert halls and sheltered rooms that marked the rapidly changing landscapes of her flight, were all were part of the data stream that coursed through her digital memory. She had taken them for granted, those humans that sheltered her during the early years. It was their duty to watch over her and she had known no other life. When she played, it was not for them. It was for herself. She knew they were there, she knew they listened and she acknowledged their appreciation, as was her programming. But outside of the obligations of these acknowledgements, she had been alone with the sound; as she was now. _

_Her hands moved gracefully over the keys. The keys held the secret to the puzzle that she sought to untangle. They were the symbols of the code that ever eluded her. _

**2**

Mak and Tomas lay on the floor near the piano, staring up at the ceiling as they absorbed the sound. The mournful melody unraveled slowly, the intricate harmonic intervals reflecting the gray drama of the wind outside.

"What do you make of all this?" Mak asked Tomas softly. Though neither had said a word about the incident between Parker and Emre', Tomas knew of what his old friend spoke. It had been sitting between them like a silent pest for hours.

Tomas lifted his head to check if anyone was within earshot. "It's a mess," he whispered, lying back down. "The boy wants to make a challenge. Now's not a good time. He's too young, yet."

"Smart, though, and brave," Mak responded. "And he can read! He'll make a good chief in time."

"Would you follow him?"

Mak wasn't ready for the question. He mulled it over. "No," he said finally. "He's good, yeah, strong and smart, all that. But not yet. Maybe someday, if I last that long."

"And what if he makes his bid on the road?" Tomas asked.

Mak laughed. "So? Parker will pound him into the ice. He's not that good."

"Ok, so he looses," Tomas said. "What if he leaves then, and takes Otter, Rennie and little Bosche? They'll follow him, you know. And what about the women? They don't need old bears like us around."

Mak thought about this. This wasn't the right time for such matters. Things were getting complicated. "It was much simpler in the South," he grumbled. "Maybe the kid was right, maybe we should have stayed." Tomas nodded sympathetically. He didn't agree, but he understood the sentiment.

He noticed Coco, lying quietly near the door to the outside. He knew the man did not want to side with anyone. Tomas turned his gaze to the corner of the room where the young men were huddled together. Emre' was speaking softly to them, casting unreadable glances in Parker's direction. Otter's face was anxious, resentful. Bosche' and Rennie seemed to gaze on Emre' with a reverence they had once held only for Parker. This was not good.

Tomas leaned back and let his mind relax on the notes flowing from the piano. "Just be prepared for anything," he said.

**3**

Nayar sat alone, in a corner of the lobby. A dark melancholy had fallen on him, one that was only partially due to the somber tones that Doll played. He had been obliged to stay behind while the men had gone in search of food. He had been sure that they would find something hidden beneath the wreckage of the old towers. But in their hours of searching they only found empty cargo runners and husks of burnt out grocery stores.

He long would the food last? Three or four months? With all these people it was hard to tell. Maybe the nomad's woman was right, and they should pack up and head for the Basin. They certainly had few other options. But as far as Nayar knew, the place was just a fantasy shared around the campfires of lonely wanderers. And even if it was true that she had been there in her youth, a lot could have happen in that time. It could very well be was abandoned like the rest of the cities.

As the mournful music filled the room, Nayar's mind fretted on the possibilities. He glanced Parker, whose face was grim. Did the man know what he was doing?

Parker didn't really want to hear this music. It was too close to the feeling in his heart. He could not afford to let the Tribe get too comfortable here, but neither could he rely on the seasons to clear the mountain passes of snow and ice. As if all this uncertainty was not enough to contend with, Emre' was becoming more and more agitated, repeatedly challenging his decisions. He had noticed the glares that the young man had been casting his way. But he did not return them. Emre' was going to make a bid for leadership, that much was clear. Parker only hoped he would wait until they were all safe and warm in the Basin.

He gazed over the room, at the huddles of people who had chosen him to lead them. He worried about their future. The sound of the Machine's playing resonated uncomfortably with his own dark thoughts. Why couldn't that damn thing play something to lift this dark spirit from the room?

**4**

Rosa ignored Daniel's complaints as she tugged through the tangles in his long blonde hair.

"You have not taken good care of yourself," she said. "If you had combed, as I showed you, this would not have to happen."

Daniel grimaced as another mat of hair was combed through. "Owww!!" he complained. He considered attempting a quick flight, but Ish was sitting nearby and he decided against it, knowing she could move very fast for such a big person.

Malin was across the room, attempting to get Otter's attention. But Otter and the other young men were talking seriously about something, and after a few moments of being ignored, she came to sit with Rosa and Daniel.

"This is getting boring," she said. "Hiding in this building all day, waiting for something to happen. We should be on our way." Rosa was about to respond when Parker's voice rose above the music.

"Stop that!" Parker yelled. All eyes were quickly on the man. He was on his feet, shifting his weight to and fro, his face twisted in some unrecognizable emotion. He raced to the center of the room and pounded the piano with an open palm. "Stop that, now!' he yelled.

Doll's recitation instantly ceased and the Machine looked at Parker in confusion.

Emre' stood quickly, eyeing Parker with, suspicious eyes. The other young men watched the situation carefully, wondering what was happening.

"What is wrong with you?" Ish called, concern written on her face. Parker waved a hand to silence her intrusion.

"Daniel, tell her to play happy now!" he said in a tone both commanding and desperate. He strode in a quick circle, hand to his head as if he was uncertain how to continue. "We don't need this lonely music! Make her play happy sounds!"

Daniel looked at Parker perplexed, but said nothing. Malin scooted away quickly. She had never seen the Chief so agitated. Rosa stood, her own temper growing.

"You're not helping things acting this way!" she yelled.

Parker ignored the challenge. "Tell her, Daniel!" he said.

Daniel brushed Rosa's hands away and rose. "Doll plays what she wants," he snapped.

"No! Not tonight!" Parker shouted and turned to the piano. "Play something happy now, Machine."

Doll's hands were frozen above the keys. She didn't understand what the man wanted to hear.

"Is there a particular piece you would like, sir?" she asked.

"Make us smile!" Parker yelled. "Make us look to tomorrow with hope. Not this… this music for tears! This is music for the dead!"

Daniel slipped in-between Parker and Doll. "Don't yell at her!" he roared. "She can hear you just fine without yelling!"

Parker regarded Daniel with agitated indecision. It was useless arguing with this boy. He knew nothing of what was happening around them now. Parker stepped away from the piano and began to clap his hands together; the hollow sound filled the room. Mak and Tomas sat up and Coco rose to his feet. They were worried now.

Parker's face was drawn, his eyes intense, his gruff voice loud and wavering. He chanted the warrior's song he had learned as a child, the one he had sung over his father's grave. It was a heroic melody, a song of strength and triumph.

Doll did not know this piece. She listened carefully and tried to isolate the tonal structure, but the man's voice was wavering all over the scale. She sat at the piano with her hands upraised, ready to play the moment she could isolate the primary pitch.

Parker moved among the hesitant Tribe, bellowing the simple lyric. He wanted them to sing with him. He wanted to forget the darkness in his heart, to forget the impending doom he saw ahead.

Ish eyed him cautiously as he wound through the simple rhyme again. Then she began mouthing the words too. Hesitantly, the tribe members started to keep the beat. The older men knew the tune well and joined in, not wanting Parker to look the fool. Emre' and the others waited a few verses and then reluctantly sang along. But their eyes were still cautious on their Chief as he paced the room.

Daniel didn't know what was wrong with Parker, but at least the man had stopped yelling at Doll. The Tribe's voices were filling the room. The chant was building to a discordant intensity. Nayar had never heard this song before, but the tune seemed simple enough. He hummed along and, after a moment, tried to sing. But he didn't know the words, so he clapped his hands in time with the staccato syllables.

The room was soon filled with their unified voices. Slowly the darkness that lain on their hearts lifted, letting a new light take it's place. After a few more verses they were laughing at each other, and those who had been hesitant to join were now smiling and singing aloud, just as Parker had desired.

Their concerns and conflicts had been temporarily forgotten.

But the forgotten world was about to come crashing in.

**5**

The sound from the building warbled into the darkness. It was the sound of merriment and tenuous laughter.

It was the sound of distraction.

"Now," Prescott said.

There was a hushed whisper of boots sliding over snow banks, towards the building where the unsuspecting Tribe struggled to maintain an uneasy merriment.

**6**

Parker stopped singing, his mouth frozen between words. There was a man standing in the doorway. He was grim and thick-muscled, his clothing, ragged and torn. He was obviously not dressed for the cold, but he showed no discomfort with the snow gathered on his shoulders and in his hair. His face was set in a look of pure animal aggression, his eyes calculating and sharp. The man scanned the room quickly. Then he moved inside.

Parker reacted too slowly. " _RAIDER!" _he yelled as a body flew through the room, heaved like a spear by the impossibly strong man. Mak and Tomas unsheathed their blades. Decades of life on the wastes had armed them with a inner sense for trouble. But the singing had let down their guard.

"Coco!" Mak yelled, jumping away from the madman who had just thrown his friend across the room like a child's doll. Coco's body crashed to the floor in front of Parker, who had to side step to avoid behind hit. The man's head was gushing red from a wound lined with protruding bone. Parker ran to his side, to move him to safety.

Emre' rolled away from the attack, reaching for his weapon. The other young men were up quickly, but not quickly enough. As Rennie unsheathed his machete', the intruder stepped forward and fired a savage kick. The strike broke ribs that tore into the youth's lungs, sending him into spasms.

Bosche' screamed as his lover fell to the floor, blood seeping from his mouth. A rage descended on his heart, one he had never felt before. He snatched up his weapon and attacked, joining Otter and Emre' who were already slashing at the invader. Tomas and Mak quickly joined the fray. But their numbers did not intimidate the Machine; it had no life to loose. It flew back at them, and their blades tore at its flesh to no avail.

Parker rose from Coco's side, his heart burning. His friend's life had been snuffed out in an instant. He saw Ish and Rosa pulling Rennie's writhing body away from the fight and realized that this was no man they were up against. He drew his weapon and raced to help his men who were already hacking at the intruder, their blades slicing through its false flesh.

"Go for the eyes!" Parker screamed, as he maneuvered himself in a position to slash at the back of the Machine's head. He felt the blade strike against the soldier's metal skull. The thing was surprised by his attack and emitted a feral roar as it threw its bulk around, sending the men flying in all directions. But they were instantly up, flailing at the intruder.

Daniel had seen such violence before, and the memory would never leave him. He grabbed Doll and pulled her away from the room, knowing she would not flee on her own. He raced towards the dark interior of the building, past the old useless elevators and down an unlit hallway.

Ish and Rosa pulled Rennie into a corner, away from the battle. Malin screamed his name, and ran to him, but Ish pulled her away.

"Machines do not attack on their own!" she yelled and ran to retrieve a blade from her coat. The other women understood and grasped their own weapons. They formed a semi-circle around Rennie, who was crying out in agony.

"Daniel!" Ish yelled, without taking her eyes off the fight. But Daniel did not reply. She turned quickly to see the boy already leading the Machine woman away. "Good boy," she said to herself. Then she turned to wait for who or whatever might come through the door next. The women of the Tribe were ready to make their stand. It would not be the first time they had been forced to rise to the challenge. Others had been surprised in the past.

The Smart Soldier was strong and felt no pain, only digital codes of alert, which would not cause it to loose focus. But now it was being overpowered, slashed and ripped by blades and clubs that came from all directions. In spite of its strength, these were too many challenges at once.

That was when the others rushed in, the ones the soldier had been sent to make way for. The nomads were forced to redirect their attacks, and in moments the room was filled with fighting and screaming. Blades slashed. Blood flowed. The women rushed into the fight and hacked into the intruders. They knew what their fate would be if the men failed… as well as the fate of the boy. They would die before they let that happen.

Their women's determination made them formidable foes and the men who stormed into the room found themselves quickly backing away as the women joined the fray.

The Smart Soldier made its way through the room, moving among the combatants, assisting those whose faces it had stored as 'friend'. Its strike could be a deathblow. When the Tribesmen saw it coming, they retreated from battle, fleeing towards the back of the building.

"RUN" Parker yelled at Malin, when he saw the Machine moving towards where she and Rosa were clashing blades with a burley intruder. But Parker's attention was drawn by a haggard looking man who lunged at him with a nail imbedded club. He sidestepped with a speed that surprised his attacker, and thrust his blade into the man's midriff. The man let out a low grunt and fell to the floor, his face already twisting in the throes of death.

Two more invaders were on Parker instantly. He cried out as he slashed at them, jumping away from their blades at the last moment, twisting as he parried, and then slashing at them again. The men backed away to reset their attack.

Then Parker saw Malin's lifeless body on the floor at the foot of the soldier. Fire filled his veins. He rushed at his attackers, taking them by surprise. He had done battle with the greatest predators of the forest and these travel weary Raiders were no match for him. One was dead before he hit the ground; the other backed away, screaming, blood flowing from a gash that ran the length of his heavy coat.

Parker knew his own flesh had been torn, but he ignored the pain. Blade held high, voice raised in a battle cry, he rushed at the Smart Soldier.

The metal monster heaved a deadly blow in Parker's direction, but the man dodged easily, thrusting his body down and kicking out with all his force at the Machine's legs. The Machine lost its balance and thudded to the floor. Parker moved quickly, kicking at the Machine's head, feeling his boot smack against its strong metallic jaw.

But the Machine was up too fast, its heavy fists flailing the air as it regained balance. Parker rose too, narrowly avoiding a massive fist that whooshed through the space where his head had been a moment before. He raced away from the Machine, retreating to a safe distance. Then he saw young Rennie lying on the floor, still in the throes of death. He cried out in frustration, and started towards the young Tribesman, to retrieve him. But he quickly understood that it was too late. He had to think of the living. He swore and retreated into the halls to make his stand.

**7**

"Keep them from getting into the back of the building!" Prescott called. He appraised his surroundings as he made his way into the room, brandishing a razor edged machete'.

"A little dusty, but it'll do," he said. He stopped to inspect the piano. "Steinman?" he said and clucked his tongue. "It's a damn knockoff." He heard someone moaning nearby. He walked casually to where a nomad lay writhing on the floor, and thrust his blade into the young man's chest, ending his life brutally and quick. He noticed another nomad a few feet away. The small man's head bore an impressive wound. Prescott hummed in appreciation of Tank's special abilities.

Then he saw the girl. Her dead eyes stared up into nothing, a halo of blood pooled around her fine black hair. "Don't kill the women, you morons!" he yelled angrily. He scanned the room and counted his own losses. Just two. They were ahead. It should be over soon.

"And don't damage my pianist, either!" Prescott called as his men raced after the retreating nomads. He strode casually into the darkness of the hall that led into the darkened body of the building. He felt along the walls as he went, sure that there was something the ignorant nomads had probably not been aware of. In moments he found what he was looking for. He opened the panel.

**8**

Daniel took refuge with Doll in the broken body of a desk that lay in a room deep down winding halls of the building. Outside the room he could hear the sound of metal on metal and anguished screams. The darkness was their only shield here. It would take some time for the men to find them, but he was sure they eventually would.

"Stay here, Doll," he whispered. Then he began moving through the room, searching for a door, a window, any exit that might lead to a hiding place.

But he was blinded by a sudden flash of florescent white.

The lights had come on.

**9**

The Tribesmen turned from the fight and fled up the hallway, smashing through doors to find shelter until their eyes could adjust to the unexpected flood of light. They weren't worried about the men, they could have handled them easily, it was the only Machine that had not been rendered sightless and it took this advantage to rush Tribe. But when the fleeing people broke off in different directions, the Machine had to decide which to follow. It was not programmed to make such decisions. It hesitated for just long enough for the Tribe the get their bearings. But then they found themselves at a thick glass barrier, beyond which snow could be seen falling outside.

They were trapped!

They beat at the glass with their fists and weapons, but it would not break. There was no place left to run. They turned to see the Machine moving slowly towards them, flanked by a line sneering raiders.

Parker was breathless and bloody. The fighting had taken a tool on him. But he decided that the triumphant look on the invader's faces was premature. He jumped with amazing speed into the group of thugs, slashing his blade though the air. The Raiders were surprised by the attack, unprepared for the blade that whistled into their line. One of them fell back with a scream, a deep gash across his face filling with red.

Parker fell back into a defensive stance. When he saw the Smart Soldier turn its eyes on him, he knew he had been targeted. This would surely be his last stand. But he welcomed it. If he could distract the Machine long enough for his men to defeat the intruders, just maybe they could escape.

The Tribe didn't wait for the raiders to move; they took the offense, slashing and thrusting their weapons with renewed fervor. The invaders moved back, surprised by the intensity of the attack. They had expected surrender, had expected Tank to put the fear of death in them. But these nomads would not be cowed.

The Machine suddenly aborted is move on Parker and turned its attention back to the group, processing which was friend or foe. But Parker caught its attention.

"Come on, Machine! I got a thing for you here!" he challenged, grabbing his crotch in a ritual gesture of insult.

But the Machine required no insult to provoke it. It understood that the large man had acted with initiative, that it had commanded the others. It was obviously a leader and must be dealt with. The Smart Solider gritted its teeth in a simulated snarl, and began its assault.

**10**

Daniel heard the whisper of the door opening. The sounds of battle grow louder for that moment and then faded as the door was closed. Could it be Malin? Rosa? Or maybe Nayar was sneaking away from the fight. He pressed back into the improvised sanctuary, pulling Doll back with him. His heart raced and it seemed that he was breathing too loud. Sitting quietly beside him, it seemed that Doll was as calm as ever. But Daniel was wrong about that.

**11**

_She knew the sounds of battle. The fighting noises had always preceded her flight and meant that she would be away from her music. She resigned herself to this; sad in her own way, and felt the boy's protective embrace pulling her back into the wooden hiding place he had found._

**12**

A man walked into Daniel's view. He was thin and pale, wrapped in a ragged black coat. But his expression was sharp, and his eyes displayed a calculating dark intelligence. He gazed down on the hunkering pair and smiled. His lips were thin slices of a sneer, stretched across his pallid, angular face.

"Ahhh, so _here_ you are, boy," Prescott said. "I had a feeling you might still be about." His eyes focused on Doll and his brows lifted. "And this must be our amazing relic. Our pianist? Very good work," he said with an appreciative nod. He felt a welcomed stirring at the site of the Machine's golden brown skin and the fine black hair that cascaded neatly down her sides. So what if it was only simulated? The human women had obviously not faired, so well, the ravages of the worsening world.

The sound of fighting had moved far down the hallway. This was good. He had some time. He sheathed his weapon. "Get up, machine," he said. "Come here and let me see you."

Daniel could tell what the man was thinking. "She's not for that!" he yelled, breaking his fearful silence. The sound of his own voice emboldened him. "Get away!" he yelled louder, misreading the thin man's silence as intimidation. "Parker!" he called out. "Help!"

Prescott shook his head, chuckling. "I think your friends are rather preoccupied at the moment, boy." Then he knelt and his smile chilled Daniel's heart. "And I don't think they'll be available to assist you when this business is finished. Just pray my hearty fools don't kill all the women in the passion of the fight, or they might be inclined to put _you_ to work in their stead." Then he reached out and grabbed Doll by the shoulder "Now, give her to me!" he commanded, and yanked her from their hiding place in one strong tug.

"_NO!"_ Daniel screamed. He jumped at the man, flailing his small fists, batting the air wildly as he tried to protect Doll. But a sudden shock against the side of his head sent him sprawling across the floor. He felt searing pain, saw flashess of light against the insides of his eyelids. Then there was darkness.

Prescott sighed and sheathed his weapon again. He had only hit the brat with the butt, but perhaps killing him would have been more merciful. There was no telling what the brutes would do with him. But that oversight could be corrected later. For now, he had other concerns.

"Well, I guess it's just the two of us," he whispered, as he eyed the shapely replicant. "I have a feeling your designer had more than music in mind, eh?" He stepped close to the Machine, rolling the back of his hand across her cheek. "How very convincing," he whispered, as his hands moved over her. "I wonder how… accurate you are," he said, touching her in places she had not been designed to use, feeling the smooth, perfectly simulated contours of feminine softness beneath her gown. "Ahhh, yesss," he cooed. "I think we have a little time before the boys finish up. Do you …take requests?"

Doll did not flinch from the man's probing, though he would be wrong to think she did not understand what was occurring. She was not unfamiliar with such attentions, and she had seen the look in his eyes before.

**13**

_Uncle was a lonely man in those grey years before Daniel had been abandoned so his mother could chase whatever shabby dreams were left in the dying world. All he had then was Doll; this special device that he had promised to care for. He had done so dutifully even as his friends died or left as the world fell into ruin all around._

_But there was one night when he had forsaken his duty. He came to her, his heart yearning for comfort in his solitude. And something else inside him burned. They who had left her had explained she was not designed for those purposes. He had assured them that such a thing would never even cross his mind. But that had been before was nothing left to live for._

_He had taken her from her piano and laid her gently on blankets he had prepared for their union. Doll had not understood this behavior. She had stared uncomprehending at the ceiling as the man removed her clothing. This did not alarm her, for it had been done before; by technicians, by those who cared for her and who prepared her for performances._

_But she realized soon enough that this man's attentions were different. His hands roamed over her body in ways she had never experienced. But his attempts were futile, for, although she was capable of feeling his caresses, she could not respond in the fashion he desired. The man had finally understood this, and understood why._

_His apologies had been ardent and profuse as he dressed her and brushed her hair back into place. He had continued apologizing on through the night, trying to explain his actions as she sat staring, unable to comprehend his inner turmoil._

**14**

There was no apology in this man's eyes. He did not move gently upon her, as the man called 'Uncle' had. He pushed her down to the floor, one hand tugging at her dress and the other on the belt of his thick pants. There was a savage desperation in his eyes.

"Now let's see if you have any practical use, Machine," he said. "Let's see if we can make some _real_ music!"

His pants were quickly down. He ripped at the clothing under Doll's dress and tugged at the thin cloth that covered her torso. He wanted to be quick, before the men finished and came looking for him. His breath rushed as he positioned himself above her, marveling at the realism of her body, the softness of her flesh against his and the warmth that emanated from her. He reached down and spread the Machine legs, feeling for the area of his concern.

"_What?"_ Prescott yelled. He pushed up to his knees and examined the Machine, a mixture of disbelief and frustration contorting his features. "Well, I think they _forgot _something, didn't they?_"_

He rose and snapped his pants closed. "Well, what the hell good are you?" he roared at Doll who watched him calmly. Her detachment only served to anger him more. "Even a cheap street model comes properly equipped! You don't even have the parts that make you _worth_ anything!"

But he fell quiet then, and his face grew pensive as he reflected on his actions.

"Oh yeah, the piano playing thing," he said, tweaking his chin. Then his face morphed back into the uglier, and more accurate expression of his soul. His foot struck out, catching Doll on the shoulder and sending her sprawling across the room.

"We're in a frozen wasteland! Can you explain to me what use is a Machine that plays the fucking piano?" He kicked at her again, hitting her face and knocking her head against the floor.

**15**

_The shock of the man's strikes astounded her. The data stimulated by the attack streamed into her head, warning her to flee, warning that this was danger. But her creators had been too focused on her primary function, and the standard self-defense procedures had not been an immediate concern._

_So, she sat and watched with an expression of amazement on her face, as the man struck her again and again, sending bright flashes of warning into her brain._

_It was a warning to which she could not react._

**16**

Prescott finally relented and started pacing the room, his mind racing. "Here I am, trapped in a frozen world at the end of fucking history with a machine that _plays piano?"_ He was talking to himself now, and to the faceless fates that were responsible for his imprisonment in this hell.

It was all falling apart. First it was the ill-fated coup and the loss of most of his men, then his exile to the barren wastes. Sure there was heat in this building, and when the night was through, he would control what food supplies were left in the tanker. But what happened when the supplies diminished?

He had realized long ago that the journey to the Basin was a fantasy. The mountain passes would be filled with ice. The brutes were obviously too stupid to realize what was going on.

"Hell, I can't even get a decent piece of _ass!!"_ he yelled, slipping his machete' from its sheath and turning his attention to the cowering Machine.

"And I _HATE_ Chopin!" he hissed, raising his weapon for the final stroke.

The door burst open. Prescott turned quickly to see one of the nomads. It was the heavy, black woman from the fight in the main room, and she had come prepared. Her hunting blade was almost as big as a small sword, and already smeared with the blood of his men. Prescott's smile spread quickly and his eyes rolled down her frame in feigned appraisal.

"Well, hello," he said, composing himself to better mock the savage. "It's good to see Tank and the guys have left something to look forward to. I assume that, unlike this toy bitch, you have all the necessary accoutrements?" He kicked Doll again, and turned to face Ish. He raised his eyebrows at the look of anger in her eyes. "Oh, and may I say how lovely you look tonight?"

Ish shrieked, and jumped into the room, Malin's dead eyes burning in her mind. Their blades struck, clashing sharply in the dead air. Prescott parried her strike smoothly and laughed as he danced out of her range. Ish jumped at the man, swinging quickly, but Prescott dodged again, sending her off balance.

Then she saw Daniel lying still on the floor. She hesitated for the barest instant, only to hear Prescott moving at her. She dodged just as …

**17**

… the Smart Soldier's fist smashed into the wall above his head. Parker rolled across the large hallway, feeling the floor thud in his wake. The machine stomped its foot, trying to pin him. But he was too fast. The nomadic life kept you fit, or it killed you.

He rolled to his feet just in time to jump away again as the Machine threw a deadly punch that whistled through the space above him. He dashed to the end of the hall, out of breath, exhausted from dodging the Machine's fists. He knew he couldn't avoid them much longer.

There were bodies on the floor, but Parker couldn't tell whose. He only hoped that all the intruders were already here. If the others managed to escape this fight, only to have to face more men, it would be over. He would have died in vain.

The Machine was coming for him again. Parker didn't know if he could escape. Even a big cat got tired after a while, but this thing just kept coming. It stopped just outside striking distance, calculating an attack. Then it struck. Parker moved towards the blow, ducking and slipping beneath it. He dodged to the side and jumped into a roll.

But he wasn't fast enough.

The soldier's foot lashed out and caught Parker in the ribcage. The man's breath woofed out of him; sharp pain flared in his side and he curled into a ball on the floor. He lay there, wounded and unable to move.

It was over.

He closed his eyes and prepared for the final, crushing blow.

"_This behavior will not be tolerated! Cease and desist or I will be forced to eject you all from the premises!"_

The voice was unnaturally loud, as if amplified. Alerted by the sound, the fighters pulled away from each other and turned defensively to its source. The nomads already knew what made that sound and were surprised only by its presence. But the Raiders were shocked and confused at the sight that greeted them.

**18**

He had helped the movers with the piano. He didn't know why they were moving it to this place nor did he understand why they didn't have the appropriate vehicle for such a task. But it was not his place to ask, only to serve. He had dragged the makeshift sled almost by himself, over the snow, up a slow incline, and into the warm lobby of this new building. He had waited until the performance was over. But apparently the men hadn't needed him further. So he walked into an empty room and set himself to standby so that his batteries would not run down. He sat there in the darkness, awaiting the call of the show.

Eventually sounds had woken him, but not the ones he had expected.

**19**

"What the hell is that?" one of the intruders said, at the sight of the torn-faced machine.

"_This is your last warning. I insist that you leave the premises immediately,"_ the Usher commanded.

Tank turned away from the damaged nomad, to seek out the new threat. In its days as an actual soldier, before its use as a mechanical thug, it had fought alongside human men. It had been designed to seek out other Machine soldiers and neutralize them. When it heard the mechanical voice boom out across the battle site, it turned to face a new and unexpected combatant. It assessed the threat quickly.

Then it attacked.

The usher was designed to make his patrons comfortable. Their dancing or viewing pleasure was his only concern. So when he saw the large angry looking man running at him, it understood that these were simple hooligans, out to cause trouble. He had been programmed to deal with such matters.

Tank swung a deadly blow at the new threat, a blow that would have knocked the other Machine's head from its shoulders, had it connected at the right moment. But the Usher simply moved forward, quickly wrapping its arms tightly around Tank, and lifting the Machine off its feet.

"_You have been warned!"_ the Usher said. Then it began to carry the struggling soldier towards the front lobby. Tank beat at the Usher's back, delivering blows that would have killed a man. But the strong service Machine ignored the savage beating, and commanded the soldier to cease its disruptive behavior or the authorities would be summoned.

The combatants watched in amazed silence as Tank was carried off by the smaller Machine. The realization of what had happened seemed to charge the air and when the Raiders turned to face the Tribe again, there was no confidence in their eyes.

"Fight!" Emre' commanded, thrusting a blow at the now uncertain men, injuring one of them as the battle resumed. He knew the Usher wouldn't last long under that kind of abuse. They would have to beat these intruders back before the Usher collapsed and the soldier returned. The invaders fell back as the Tribe lashed out.

Emre' stepped away, trying to move to Parker's side. But one of the Raiders followed him. The burley man's club was swinging as he came. Emre' fought angrily, a new hope driving him on. He deflected the man's strikes, screaming as he thrust his blade at the man's chest. The attacker gasped, clutching at his wound, and fled.

Emre' fell to his knees. "Parker! Are you alright?" he said. But the man didn't answer. He was reaching down to pull the fallen Chief away from the battle, when he saw the glint of a blade from the corner of his eye. He dodged and rolled, only to see it slicing down…

**20**

…at her, again. But Ish surprised Prescott by moving towards his strike, a trick that she had learned from her father when she was a child. Prescott's blade overshot her and he jumped back, narrowly avoiding her knife. The man stood back against the wall, his breath rapid and brow flowing with sweat. Ish sneered at him and jabbed her knife through the air, but did not approach. The two stared at one another for an immeasurable moment.

"You're not bad, for a girl," Prescott said, feigning a calm he didn't feel. Where in the hell were his men? It should be over by now! Tank should have made the job easy.

"But, however valiant I may find your effort," he continued, hoping to hear the sound of his men's feet in the hall. "I do think you would be better off conceding. Your men can't win this one. You might as well look out for your own future, eh? We could use a few good women," he said with a wink. "Hell, we might even find a use for _you_."

Ish lunged at him, but he sidestepped her attack easily and slashed back, opening a tear in her coat and her flesh. Ish yelped and jumped back, cradling her injured arm.

"Stings a bit, eh?" Prescott laughed. He donned an apologetic smile, and approached her. "Well, I tried to be nice about this but-"

Then he was interrupted by a sound, far down the hallway. An unnaturally loud and cheerful voice was bellowing about ejecting someone from the premises. What was going on out there? Prescott tried not to let his surprise reach his face, but Ish wasn't fooled by his pose. She made her own pose, pretending the pain was not excruciating.

"Oh yeah…" she said, forcing a smile. "I guess you didn't know we have a toy of our own." She laughed, and struck. Prescott dodged the blow easily, rolling along the wall and jumping onto a desk. Paul had not mentioned any other Machines. He had to get out there and see what was going on.

"Well, Tank is not exactly a _toy_, my dear, as your men will find out, and I have had enough of this distraction." He feigned a strike and jumped high over her, landing smoothly across the room and racing towards the door. But something caught his leg. Prescott screamed and slashed down quickly, rending a muffled cry from whatever had stopped him.

It was the boy!

"Damn you, brat!" he yelled, raising his blade again. But he was stopped in mid-strike by a pain like electric fire that burned into his side and through his body. He turned to see the nomad woman snarling at him, and his blood streaming down the shaft of the blade she had planted in his side.

"Ohhh…" he moaned, his voice quivering as his body started to convulse, "how unladylike."

**21**

Emre' twisted out of range of a strike, and lunged into a counterattack. But his blade sliced through nothing. The man was no longer there. He was already fleeing with the few cohorts he had left. Mak, Tomas, Otter and Rosa were still fighting, cutting into their numbers. Young Bosche was among them too. He had taken a few wounds, seemed undaunted by the pain. His youthful features were twisted in rage as he made his mark.

The attackers were retreating. They had depended too much on the strength of their Machine, and hadn't planned a strategic attack. With their weapon out of the fight, they were faced with nomads who proved to be tougher than they had expected. Emre' joined his family, fighting hard and driving another intruder down the hall. He had a chance to glance at the bodies on the floor. Five he counted. He knew at least two were Tribesmen. Including Parker, that would make three.

But his attention was drawn back to the fight as a burly, bearded man lunged at him in a desperate attack. Emre' dodged and swung at counter strike at the zenith of the man's swing. His blade cut into the raider's fur, and the man stepped back, letting his arm fall weakly to his side.

They stood that way for moments, staring at one another, their breath ragged and chests heaving. Emre' could hear the sounds of metal against metal, of yelling and cries of pain. But the sounds were diminishing. Cold air filled the hall as the lobby door was opened in another invaders' retreat. The he noticed a trickle run out of the raider's sleeve, over his hand, and drip onto the floor.

"Prescott's an ass," The man said. Emre' prepared to fight, wondering if this was some maneuver to catch him off guard. But the Raider didn't move to attack.

"And I'm a bigger ass for following him." The man continued, panting out the words. "We never stood a chance against Smith. We never should'a even tried." The man's gaze roamed over the bodies on the floor and then back up to Emre', who thought he saw the slightest hint of an apology there. Then the man dropped his weapon. It clunked to the floor. Emre' saw blood on the blade and wondered to which of his family it belonged. The raider began to walk away. He strode casually down the hall towards the place where his fellows were losing their own fights. Emre' watched the man's retreat for a moment, making sure it was real. Then he rushed back to Parker's side.

"Parker!" he said. The man did not answer. He lay still, clutching his chest, his face calm, as if in sleep. "Oh damn! Parker! Don't die! We need you!" Still the man did not move. "Parker," he repeated desperately, but to no avail.

**22**

Paul walked slowly through the hallway, ignoring the sounds of his mates being defeated in the lobby. It was over. Without the Soldier, the nomads had wound up being too much of a challenge. Another of Prescott's follies, another among the many he had been led into after siding with man.

"Paul!" came a desperate, wavering voice.

Paul turned to see the man himself, wobbling out of a room, clutching his side. His coat was bloodstained, his face paler than usual. For the first time Paul could remember, the man was scared.

Prescott gasped as he stumbled an escape. "Help!" he moaned, gesturing at the doorway behind him. "She… got me… I can't… " Paul saw the husky woman that walked out of the room after Prescott, a bloodied blade held out before her.

Ish was about to finish the Raider Chief when she saw a weary man standing, unarmed, in the hall. He looked disconnected from the world around him, as if he had just happened to be strolling by and had nothing to do with the violence that was occurring. His face was expressionless, unreadable. But Ish thought she might understand something about the vacant look in his eyes.

Paul turned his gaze to Prescott. "Gimme your blade, I'll take care of it," he said. Prescott held the weapon up and Paul snatched it away. The injured man moved to hide defensively behind him.

Paul eyed the big woman and his face twisted into a snarl. If he had stayed with Smith's crew, he would still be sitting pretty in South City. There would be meat and beer. There would be girls. That's how a pirate was _supposed_ to live, not trapped in a wasteland, running raids on Roamers with nothing but a tanker of old rations.

Ish gasped as Paul turned and thrust the blade into Prescott's chest. In spite of all her years in the wild places of the world, she was unprepared for the wet sound of the weapon ripping through the man's flesh and tearing into his muscle.

Prescott uttered a low gasp of shock and pain. This couldn't be happening to him. Not to _him!_ His eyes opened wide in an agony that was unfairly brief. Then he slumped forward, his weight falling on the blade. Paul let go of the machete' handle, and Prescott fell with it, hitting the floor in a limp heap. Then he continued his dazed stroll to the exit, out the door, and into the cold of the night and oblivion beyond.

Ish watched the man retreat and then gazed at the lifeless body of the Raider Chief. It was over, she realized. Then she remembered Daniel and dashed back into the room.

"Boy! Boy!" she said leaning over him and cupping his small head in her hands. There was a dark bruise that covered the side of his face and he bled from a gash that ran the length of his forearm. "Boy, answer me! Can you hear me?" She ran her hands over his small frame, looking for other wounds, looking for blood. Then the boy muttered something.

He was alive!

"What did you say?" Ish asked. She leaned forward and pressed her face close to the boy's mouth. He whispered hoarsely in her ear.

"I said, my nameis _Daniel_, damn you!"

Ish had never been so happy to be corrected. She hugged his frail body tightly. After a moment his arms reached up and returned her embrace. Memories flooded into her mind at the feel of his small grasp; painful images of markers in the snow where tiny lifeless bodies had been set to rest forever. She thrust the memories away, and rocked the man-child in her arms.

"Ok. You are right," she said, letting her tears flow, surprised at the depth of her connection to the boy. "You are Daniel, from now on."

**23**

The Tribesmen chased the raiders out into the howling night. The men had been much less a threat than they had looked when they'd come bursting into the lobby. It must have been the hunger from their travel, the weariness of being on the open plains for so long. The nomads had long been used to living on the barest essentials. The plains were their way of life.

Without their Machine, the raiders had lost their courage, and men who made their way in the world by stealing and plundering from the weak, couldn't have much courage to begin with.

In the silver glow of the moon, the Tribesmen saw the two Machines, lying in the snow. They were still locked together in the Usher's metallic embrace, and the soldier was still beating at the back of its head. The service Machine was smashed and broken. It sizzled and popped as electric sparks issued from the smashed canopy of its skull. Yet, it continued its mechanical monologue, warning the fleeing intruders that they were in violation of the law and needed to be expelled from the premises. Its arms still grasped the Smart Soldier tightly and the thing struggled to no avail.

Mak stepped toward the trapped soldier. The Machine detected his presence and struck out at him. But Mak stepped out of the Machine's range and turned to the others, those who were left of the Tribe, those whose loved ones had perished at the hands of this ill-begotten device.

They quickly formed a circle around Mak. As one, they descended on the Machine, before it had a chance to free itself. Tank lashed out defensively, but the nomads dodged the blows, striking the helpless Smart Soldier repeatedly. In moments their clubs and blades were breaking into its flesh, smashing through its metal infrastructure and making contact with its life simulating mechanisms.

The tool had no life to loose, but in its own fashion it felt the agony of defeat. Its angry cries filled the night as the nomads took their revenge. Flashes of electric fire cast silhouettes of the tribe's assault against the building. The smell of ozone filled the air and was lost quickly on the wind.

Soon there was silence, broken only by the howl of a weary world struggling to regain its breath.

**24**

Nayar listened to the destruction of the thing that he had seen had rush into the building before he'd made his escape. He hugged his knees, rocking back and forth in the dark of the small hiding space that he had found, set off from the edge of the lobby. The fighting had gone on right next to where he had huddled, undetected.

Tears filled his eyes. They wouldn't understand. He knew they wouldn't. Not these people whose women fought as hard as the men, these people whose everyday existence had been a gamble with life. They wouldn't understand his fear.

How could he face them now?

.


	12. Chapter 12

**The Porcelain Doll**

**Chapter XII**

**1**

The Tribe gathered somberly beneath the cold sky, encircling mounds of earth where the fallen members of their small clan had been laid to eternal sleep. The earth was their home, their mother and father. From it they had come and into it they were laid, into the Shadows, away from the troubles of the world. There was no question of life beyond that sleep. It was assumed that all beings, even those that did not deserve it, lived on in the safety of the Shadows. Either way, it was no concern of the living. It was enough to survive each day, without being worried about the nature of that final sleep.

The raiders had shown no honor so none had been afforded them. The bodies of their dead had been collected and scattered about the empty city, left to feed whatever crawling things would take nourishment from their sour flesh.

The mounds of the Tribe's fallen, four by number, had been dug deep into the earth, a short distance from the building in which they had died. The earth around that structure had been covered in a hard cement shell centuries ago, so the Tribe had had to search out more pliable ground.

Now it was time to say goodbye.

Daniel stood before the Tribe, hesitant as he began his salutation. He had watched the others make their displays and knew what was expected of him, but still he glanced nervously at Ish, searching for her approval. The bandaged woman kept her expression serious, as was due the occasion, but she nodded and winked to let him know he was doing fine.

Daniel turned back to the silent mounds and fell to his knees. He lay aground then, and feigned unconsciousness. He felt silly doing this, but Ish had explained why it was important. After a moment he reached up quickly, pretended to grasp something, and fell back cradling his bandaged arm. In dong this he had enacted his role in the taking of the raiders' leader. Afterwards he rose, as instructed, and knelt at the mound to conclude the salutations.

He thought of Uncle as he knelt and his heart filled with mourning. He thought of the world he had left behind, or rather the one that had abandoned him and left him in this frozen, chaotic realm. He could barley remember the way he had lived then. It seemed now that the path had always been his home.

He remembered the ones who now lay beneath the earth, those who had taken him under their wing, pampered and scolded him. Loved him. He was truly a Roamer, now. He had fought beside them and earned his place, and now he learned to observe their rituals. He cried then, earnest tears that dropped on the grave to let the fallen know that he would continue in their stead.

When his tears subsided, Daniel rose and walked away from the mound, careful to keep his head respectfully lowered and to not look back until he had left the circle.

Emre' was next to approach the wailing point. He walked slowly to the burial mound, his back erect, his chin held high, in the fashion of a leader. His wounds were few and small, but he displayed them proudly as he turned, gesturing to the four corners of the world, the four points of the horizon that disappeared in a haze of white for as far as the eye could see. Then he expressed his respect in a series of gestures that represented his last moments of battle, the turning of the tides as the Machine soldier had been taken away, and the fight with the ragged man whose treachery had sent the raiders' captain to the Shadows.

When Emre' was finished, he cupped his hand over his heart and fell to his knees before the frozen graves. His tears fell to the mound, and froze quickly on the ice. The strength of his emotion, and that of the others who had preceded his salutation, would ever be written into the earth of this monument. But unlike them, he did not utter his loss aloud. He was next in line to lead them and he would be expected to be as strong as Parker, as resolute and courageous, if indeed that was possible.

When his salutation was finished, Emre' turned his back on the grave and walked away. It was the last that the dead would be spoken of by name. To speak their name was to draw their spirit back from the Shadows and into the world of ice and rock, where they would suffer more. Now they were free.

But the Tribe's tribulations were just beginning.

Ish eyed Emre' cautiously as he finished his wailing. He was brave and strong. He fought well and was not afraid to speak his heart. He could read the letters on the old signs and knew much about the old ways. But was he ready to lead?

Young men always considered authority in such casual terms. In the innocent arrogance of youth, they knew little on the matter of consequences. The hunt and battle taught them much as they grew. But to hold the fate of others in your hands, this was another matter. Parker had tried to show Emre' these things. He had challenged Emre', pushed him to be more concerned of the future and the ramifications of his decisions. Perhaps he had been too rough at times, but it was his way. It was the way he expressed his love and she knew it was the best he could do. Parker had made the hard decisions and bore the brunt of his failures and successes. Ish wondered if Emre' and those that remained of the tribe, were ready for the trials that lay ahead.

Bosche' had wept like a child during his salutation. Ish knew he had wept for all of his lost family, but especially for Rennie, his friend, his confidant and lover. His death was a tragedy for them all, but young Bosche would mourn stronger during his long nights alone.

Otter had been stoic. His lips had curled as he held back the rage he must have been feeling, that Malin would never laugh or tease, or bed with him again. It had not been easy for him on those nights when she had shared herself with the other men, as was their custom. Now none of them would hear her carefree laughter, or share her body, again.

Mak and Tomas were old warriors, men of the hunt and fight. They had lost friends before. But when they had knelt to the graves, their stoic masks had broken and their mourning hearts revealed. Coco had been at their side since they had first started hunting in the southern regions, and they grieved openly for him. But Ish knew the loss of the youngsters tore at their warriors' hearts as well. It was always the young who suffered the most in these matters. It had always been so and it was never easy to accept.

Rosa's heart was strong, she was a proud descendant of peoples from the north, but she had trembled with the depths of loss she felt. Her wounds stood out against the soft hues of her flesh. But it was the wounds in her heart that made her cry as she knelt over the mound. Her tears had flowed without restraint as she whispered her goodbyes to her loved ones.

Ish finally broke from her reverie and noticed Emre looking at her. She was next. She walked into the circle and re-enacted her part in the defeating of the invaders. It was she who had taken the leader of the raiders, although he had been finished by the stroke of one of his own men. When she enacted her final strike, she did so with all the passion and hatred she had felt when her blade had slid between Prescott's ribs. In spite of her desire to remain strong, a cry erupted from her as she knelt, and tears washed over her face, onto the earth, leaving another part of her heart behind.

Malin's dead eyes would always be in her memory. But the girl was at rest now, safe in the Shadows.

Ish rose at last, and walked from the grave, leaving the fallen to rest, never to speak their names again.

**2**

_Doll knew these expressions. They were the same as those she had seen written on the faces of people who had hidden with her in the grim years of her flight from the battles that raged all around. She had taken sanctuary in dark halls, in damp, dirty rooms, surrounded by people who had taken an oath to protect her. She had seen their weariness from the stage, as she played for them. In her own way she had begun to ponder them. She had wondered at the longing in their eyes, and what it was they sought as they gazed upon her. _

_Slowly something was taking shape out of her long and troubled past; a new thought, forming in the digital recesses of her mind. It was something she had not experienced before. It had an unfamiliar dimension that perplexed her as she gazed on the nomads' grim faces and observed their strange, tearful rituals. _

_She watched intently as the Tribe turned to face the building, from where a limping, bent shape had suddenly emerged. _

**3**

There was one last salutation to be made. All turned to see the man who walked from the building and approached the graves. His body was weak, and he was stooped in pain as he walked. But his face was set and determined. He fought his way painfully over the snow and ice, refusing to show weakness or the depths of his sadness.

Parker stood, finally, at the wailing point. Bent in pain, it was only his determination that the Tribe should leave this place as soon as possible that forced him past the agony of his wounds. The man did his best not to cry out as he danced the last moments of his battle. The older men wanted to rush to his side, to tell him this wasn't necessary, but they knew he would hear nothing of it. Ish's heart burnt for him, but she kept her ground and watched the man she loved fight against his own torment and uncertainty in order to show the Tribe his resolve.

They understood that he could not execute the roll with which he had attempted to escape the killer machine's fists. He simulated this instead by moving in a circle. He lifted his arm painfully at last, and cried out in defiance of the wounds that hampered him. Then he fell to his salutation. Beneath his wraps and liquor-soaked bandages, he could feel his wound burning like blades of fire. But he kept his face and only let a single tear fall. The rest would wait for those moments of solitude when he allowed himself to feel such things.

He had to remain strong. He was still their leader and he would remain so until he felt Emre' was ready for the task.

His wailing done, Parker rose slowly and turned to face the Tribe. They were only nine now. Among them were a boy, initiated to battle but fragile yet, and a Machine that could not run or fight. These two would have to be cared for, watched over while on the path. The others were wounded, but not badly. Not enough to keep them from the journey to the Basin. His good friend Coco, the young brave Rennie, and sweet, beautiful Malin would follow only in their memories and dreams.

But there was another he had yet to acknowledge.

Parker walked slowly to the fourth mound and placed his hand over his heart. The Tribe nodded their approval of this gesture. It was the first time that such a thing had been done. Within this grave lay the dead metallic-fiber body of the Usher they had awoken in the ancient theater; the Machine that had captured the Smart Soldier in its grasp and carried it out of the battle, only to be destroyed by the act. With its heroism, the Usher had turned the tide of the battle and effectively saved the Tribe. It had been decided that the Machine should be honored in a manner befitting such a sacrifice.

Now the last of the Tribe looked on Parker, expectantly. He returned their gaze. Could he still lead them? They would follow, he was sure, but was he up to the task? He straightened his back, straining to ascend to his full height, and addressed them as forcefully as he could.

"We cannot make their lives meaningless by allowing ourselves to fall into the Shadows," he said. His voice was weak. His side burned with every word. But he continued. "We cannot stay in this place. It is a trap. It will make us feel comfortable and warm and then one day we will find that there is no more food and the snows have just grown deeper and deeper, until we are be stuck here to die.

"We will take what remains of the food supply and go to the Basin. There we will let the Machine woman play on her box and we will take food and coin in exchange for listening to her, until we can make a claim to land of our own."

Emre' stepped forward but Parker raised his hand. "Let me finish," he said without addressing the man directly. He knew he would have to handle this situation, eventually.

"Nayar will come with us," he said, his eyes scanning the group for protest. "We will not leave him here to starve. He has been a friend to us and…" Parker coughed then, and pain exploded in his side. Tears filled his eyes as he fought to maintain his composure.

"But he flew from the attack!" Emre' objected angrily, stepping before the group to press his point. "He hid like a child in the walls of the building. He has no salutation to display but that of a coward! Even the boy has shown more courage!"

There were grumbles of agreement from the rest. Ish said nothing, but she did not like the fact that Emre' had chosen Parker's moment of weakness to challenge his pronouncement. She kept her tongue, but watched, carefully, the conflict between Parker and the young man who would eventually make a bid for leadership.

Parker did not address Emre's objection. He forced his pain back and stood tall. His voice was clear and final on the subject.

"We will _not_ leave him here to die! We are taking the food that he would use to stay alive and we will not act like the raiders that killed our beloved!" He locked Emre's gaze as he spoke these words. There was visible tension between them, but after a moment the younger man looked away, his eyes scanning the snowy ground. Parker's eyes roamed over their faces, asserting his will with the sheer strength of his gaze.

"I don't say it's OK, what the old man did," he said finally. "But he is not one of us. He is not bound by the rule of the Tribe." Then he fixed Emre's eyes once more. "And the Basin is a far country. I am sure there will be challenges along the way. The old man might prove himself yet."

Grumbling broke out among them. They were not exactly happy with this pronouncement. But Parker had proven himself heroic in battle. He had taken a great chance by engaging the killer Machine, a gamble that could have easily cost his life. And, once again, he had survived. Even in his diminished condition he stood tall and fearless.

"We will leave as the sun rises, in the passing of five days, " Parker commanded. "Let us take this time to heal and prepare." Then he moved from the graves and made his way slowly back towards the building.

Emre' stood his ground, watching the wounded man pass by. Ish waited to see what the younger man would do, concerned that he would take advantage of Parker's weakness to make his bid. If he did, and was successful, she would not respect his office. None of them would.

But Emre' simply followed the rest of the mourning Tribe into the building, where they'd enjoy the last warmth they would feel for a long time.

Ish sighed, relieved. The challenge was put off for now, but she knew their final confrontation was on the way. Hopefully it would wait until they got to the Basin. As much as she fought the idea, if Emre' made his bid on the road, and it was a fair challenge, she wasn't sure what side she would take.

It was all getting very complicated.

**4**

Nayar watched the burial ceremony from the sanctuary of one of the back rooms. The young angry one, Emre', had tried to kill him, or at least that is how he had interpreted the man's aggressive behavior, his shouting and pushing. If it had not been for the older men, Mak and Tomas, it might have gotten worse.

The men had calmed Emre' and led him away. But Nayar had no illusions about their feelings toward him. They had protected him from Emre's attack, but they would not speak to him after. Nor would they accept his help in tended to the wounded.

In his forgiving innocence, Daniel was the only one among them who seemed concerned. He asked the old man if he was all right, and tried to console him after Emre's angry assault. But Ish had quietly bid Daniel away, sending the boy on some poorly defined errand.

"Shit on it all!" Nayar swore and stood away from the window. It wasn't fair. He was just trying to stay alive out here. He didn't need to fight someone else's battles! But even as this thought crossed his mind, he imagined what might have happened if the Tribe had not been here when Raiders had come. The pirates would have had no reason to tolerate an old man, when everything they needed was free for the taking.

"I didn't ask for this!" he yelled into the still air of the room, trying again to quash the shame that was blooming inside. Immediately, the ghost voices came back to him; scared and angry, raised thinly over the howling of a furious storm that raged in a pit of dark memories.

"No!" he yelled, cupping his ears against the screams from his past. "It wasn't my fault! I didn't ask for this!" In time the memories dissipated and he was left alone and grey, a lonely old man feeling the weight of his failures pressing down on his heart.

He cried then, feeling shame for the self-pity he could not escape; guilt for his cowardly actions of the night before, and those from a time past, when he might have actually made a difference.

"I ain't like that anymore" he said. But he knew it was a lie. He was 'like that' then, and he was still, and there was perhaps nothing that would change it.

Outside, the Tribe was finishing their ceremony and heading back towards the building. Nayar watched their approach through tear-streaked vision. They knew, too. They knew he was a coward and that, should they put their faith in him, he would let them down.

It had happened before.

Stinging from the wounds of an old regret, the weary old man moved across the room and locked the door. Then he curled into a ball and cried himself to sleep.

**5**

The days passed quickly as the Tribe prepared to complete their journey to The Basin. They had to find creative methods to handle their new burden. The women struggled with ways to pack and carry containers of food while the men mulled over a method to get Doll's piano over miles of rock and ice without killing themselves.

A couple of times during the day, Daniel had been frustrated in his attempts to keep Doll away from the device as the men puzzled over the problem of transporting it. There was a new nervousness in the Machine. She fidgeted visibly and increasingly disobeyed the boy when he told to her to wait until the men were finished before she could play.

**6**

_New thoughts were taking shape in Doll's head, pushing her to higher levels of defiance. She could not be without her music, any longer. It had been too short a time that she had been rescued from the silence, only to be cast once more into that dismal realm._

_When the boy came to her, to pull her away from her playing, something red and sizzling erupted in her head, and she ignored him until the men came and lifted her away. She smiled, as always, and accepted this discipline, for she knew no other way. But her new mind, the one that was growing into unfamiliar and uncomfortable dimensions, was no longer content to let others decide her course through the world._

**7**

Emre' suggested taking the piano apart, carrying it in sections and then putting it together when they got to the basin. But one look at the complexity of its design made them forget that plan.

Mak thought they could fit it into one of the big wheels they had seen on the large dead machines at the outskirts of the city. Perhaps they could roll it that way, he suggested. The young men broke into laughter, but Tomas took the time to explain that it would still be as heavy, and if the thing rolled away from them there would be no way to stop it.

Otter thought they could build a sled and push the thing, but realized quickly how silly an idea that was. He fell into a squat, cupping his head in his hands. It was a position he adopted often since the loss of his love.

But Bosche was not so quick to dismiss Otter's idea. He rose from where he had been watching and walked around the piano, pinching his chin as he considered something. "We could build a harness," he said, after a moment of pondering. "We could have all the men pull it at once."

The others applauded the idea. Mak stepped up to land a congratulatory slap on the young man's back. Bosche' smiled in response, but grimaced in pain when Mak turned away.

"We'll need to build a sled," Otter said, his spirits renewed.

"A damned big one!" Emre' agreed.

"I know where there might be somethin' you can use."

They all turned to see Nayar standing at the edge of the shadows in the hall. His eyes darted nervously between the men of the Tribe.

Emre bristled at the sight of the hermit. "What are you doing here, old man?" he spat. "Why don't you practice your disappearing trick again? " Otter and Bosche' muttered angry agreements. But the older men had learned that patience was often the best way.

"Wait!" Tomas protested diplomatically, waving his arms for peace. "It won't hurt to listen, Emre'. Maybe he does know something we can use."

The young man scowled, but after a tense moment, crossed his arms and glared at Nayar impatiently. "What is it?" he asked, "What do you know?"

Nayar stepped forward hesitantly, his hands out to plea for patience. "Well, you know that ol' theater place? Well… that usher thing talked about a 'loading dock', didn't he?"

Emre' raised his chin, his eyes leveled suspiciously on the hermit. Then his expression relaxed. "Ok. What's that?" he asked.

**8**

They hadn't been in the old theater since wresting the piano from its depths. Now Emre', Mak and Tomas entered the place again, cautiously winding through the hallway and over the dance floor. The Usher was gone for good and they did not know what dangers might still lurk in the belly of the place.

They worked their way carefully beyond the wreckage of what had once been the stage, and into the darkness near the backdoors from where the Usher had emerged when they'd first met it. Like in the old museum, where they had found the boy and his Machine, there were piles of incomprehensible devices lying all about. They rummaged through this debris, hoping find something useful, but they could make no sense of most of it.

Emre' found a series of levers that he though might have triggered the device that changed the floor design, but the others pushed him away before he could test his theory. None of them wanted to experience that again.

They approached a pitch-dark area near the back of the building. Slivers of light broke through the corners of large metallic doors that that were blocked from the outside. It was here that they found something that they could indeed use.

"Damn to the old bastard," Emre' swore, scratching his head at the find. "Why didn't he think of this before?"

Mak glanced at Tomas and shook his head. Tomas shrugged back. Neither pointed out that Parker would have simply been grateful.

**9**

"It's a sled," Emre' explained to the Tribesmen who gathered outside the building to see what had been found. "Well, it's not really a sled but it'll act like one, and… " he reached onto the large lever that protruded like a tongue from the front of the thing, and flicked a switch. The large, flat metal surface of the sled began to hum. "It's got a motor, and batteries that still work," he said.

The others studied the sled and noticed that it hovered a few inches above the ground.

"How does it work?" came a gruff voice.

They all turned to see Parker leaning against the wall of the building, his eyebrows raised as he gazed on the device.

Emre' shrugged. "It sits on the air. I don't know how. You can carry things on it. I pulled Mak and Tomas all the way over here." The two men nodded to acknowledge this. "But it fails over bumps. We will have to stick to the old roads. The shortcuts will be no good to us."

Parker grunted in satisfaction. The roads might take a bit longer, but they would eventually lead the tribe to their destination. "And how long will the battery last?" he queried.

Emre' pursed his lips. "It's a sun battery," he said, "But it's old and probably won't last forever. Either way, we don't really have any choice, do we? Not if you insist on taking the music box."

Parker wasn't in the mood to volley. He conceded this point by not responding. He scrutinized the floating device. "Ok," he said nodding, "Good thinking."

A thin shape was standing in the doorway to the building. Emre' nodded his head in the man's direction. "It was his idea," he admitted quickly, before turning to pull the humming lift into the lobby.

Parker turned to see Nayar. "Good thinking, Nayar," he said, and made his way back into the lobby to lie down. The old man smiled a weak acknowledgement and stepped out of Emre's path.

**10**

During the remaining days, Nayar tried to assist as the piano was being wrapped in blankets and furs and secured onto the improvised sled. But the men shrugged off his help. He tried again, as the last tanks of synthetics were emptied and their contents bagged, to be pulled on the sled with the piano. But the women eyed him coolly and gestured for him to go away.

Mak and Tomas had at least acknowledged his attempts with an appreciative wink. But it was only Daniel who seemed receptive to his presence. When Nayar had attempted to talk to him, however, Ish had intervened.

So Nayar sat on the periphery, taking refuge in his doubt and self-pity. Parker was making his rounds. He was still weak from his wound, but his chin was held high and his eyes analyzed everything. When he saw Nayar pouting against the wall, he walked to the man and plopped down heavily beside him.

"You've got your things ready?" he asked.

The hermit shrugged. "I can't go if it's gonna be this way," he said after a moment. "They hate me, and… and I don't blame 'em."

"You can't stay here, Nayar," Parker said. "You will die."

The old hermit looked up through overgrown grey brows and sighed. "I'm gonna die soon enough anyway, and maybe that's not so bad a thing… maybe I been livin' way past my due."

Parker would have none of this talk. He slapped his hand against the hermit's leg. "Stop crying and hold your face up, old man. To have survived this long, alone, is a feat to be proud of. But, you are going to have to leave with us. This place is dead. In the Basin we will find warmth and we can hunt again. There will be real food, fresh off the bone!" He shot a conspiratorial wink at the man. "There may even be a woman for you," he said

But Parker's attempt was futile. Nayar just looked away.

Parker reconsidered his approach. He leaned close to the hermit and spoke softly. "I know how they feel about you. Yes. But I know how you feel, too. You have shame because you were afraid, and maybe there are other things in your heart that you are too shamed to speak.

"But I don't see it their way, Nayar. You are not a hunter. You are not a fighter. We are. You have no use of weapons. We do. I don't know how you came to this place, and it is not really my concern. But I can tell that you did not roam as us.

"We will show you how to survive in the world. If the boy can learn to roam, than so can an old bear like yourself." Parker stood, clutching at his side to contain the pain in his ribs, "Now, pack what you need, and _only_ what you need. Get some rest. Tomorrow we are gone from this place."

**11**

The next morning arrived in a drizzle of wet snow. It stopped when the light of the sun broke through the clouds and turned the worried expressions of the tribe into smiles. It was quickly turning into a good day for traveling.

The morning was still young when they set off from the dead city, making their way between the silent looming towers, down the ice-encrusted roadways where, centuries before, vehicles had rolled quickly over the pavement. Now the rugged descendants of that lost civilization made slow progress with their special cargo in tow.

Otter and Mak were the first in line to pull the sled. Though they occasionally needed help pulling it over huge clumps of debris, or up steep inclines, it turned out to be easier than they had thought. As the journey progressed, this duty would be passed along until all had shared the responsibility.

Silent as always, Doll walked between Ish and Rosa, the last women of the Tribe. They had wrapped her in thick furs, and gloves to protect her irreplaceable hands. Her eyes glanced repeatedly at the heavily wrapped piano on the hovering sled, while Ish and Rosa kept their eyes on her.

Daniel walked on the outside of the group, with the men. Parker said that he was expected to act as one of them now. His arm was healing quickly. The bleeding had stopped long ago, and only a dull throb remained of the pain he had felt.

Nayar walked with Parker, near the front of the procession. Parker had insisted on this arrangement, for he was afraid the hermit would fall behind and get lost in the snow. Perhaps, intentionally. But Nayar wanted to stay close to the Chief, anyway. If anything happened to Parker, he felt sure the rest of the Tribe would abandon him to the frozen wastes. In spite of what Parker assumed, he did not want to die out here.

As the sun reached its zenith, they came to the place where the large buildings began to diminish. They paused to take in the site of the grey towers one last time before they made their way into the mountain roads.

"Look!" Daniel said, pointing to a dark shape lain in the snow at the edge of the roadway ahead. They followed the boy's gesture and saw a man lying on his back. The men took their weapons in hand and approached the still form.

"It's him," Emre' said, as he gazed on the dead man. "It's the one who turned on their Chief." The others came to look down on Paul's body. His thick beard was matted with ice; the snow was black where the blood from the wound Emre' had inflicted, had puddled and dried. His frozen eyes peered up at them, unseeing

"He must have tried to make it to the Basin alone," Mak suggested.

"I don't think he was going anywhere," Ish said, recalling the vacant look in the man's eyes. "There are plenty of places to take shelter from the cold, if he had wanted to." They all understood. The man must have desired the Shadows.

"They'll be no problem to us again," Parker said, interrupting the spectacle. "Let us go now."

Emre' stood a moment longer as the others began to make their way up the slow incline of the road. What was it the man had said when he had dropped his weapon; that he was more an ass than their leader… more of an ass because he followed?

Emre' turned to look back on the city they were leaving behind. How did Parker know they wouldn't find something to sustain them in one of those silent buildings? There were so many they hadn't tried.

But it was too late now. He turned, finally, and caught up with the Tribe. Quietly, the grim travelers made their way over the frozen road, towards an unpredictable future.

.


	13. Chapter 13

**The Porcelain Doll**

**Chapter XIII**

**1**

Day became night, and the travelers built a fire, erected their tents and wrapped themselves in their bedding. All except Doll, who sat alone under the cover of the women's tent.

The women had decided to bed together, to keep resentment from building among the men. Tensions were high enough without adding jealousy to the mix. The men paired off, sharing furs to keep warm. The Tribe had done this before but the practice was new to Daniel and Nayar who were set with one another, primarily because the boy was the only one who would tolerate the hermit's company. The two were uncomfortable at first, especially Daniel who was bothered by the hermit's sweaty odor. But when the wind kicked up outside the tent they understood the value of this practice. Their combined warmth buffered the harsh chill.

Night became day again, and the travelers packed while the sun was just peeking over the horizon. They moved slowly, up and down the sloping surface of the road as it wound through the hills and mounts of a deserted world. Occasionally they saw small wildlife scampering away at their approach. These sighting excited them. There was still life along the road. Perhaps serious game might be found on the plains. The men smiled for the first time since before the raiders' attack, as they imagined an opportunity for the hunt.

Soon the sun broke thorough the stubborn clouds and the daylight warmed the earth around them, creating icy streams from which they filled their water sacks. Things were going better than they had anticipated, and their spirits slowly lifted.

The night and day cycle passed again and again and they settled back into the mindset of the path. Soon Parker was walking tall, though it was clear that he might never regain his imposing, regal stature. His pain was not completely gone, bit it had greatly diminished and he was determined to not show his weakness. He laughed and joked with the others, turning away and pretending to scan the horizon during those moments when he had to grimace from his wounds.

Just as the boy had initially complained, old Nayar had, at first, muttered and glared at Parker, obviously upset that he had been forced to come along. But after a few days time, his soft complaints had ceased and he tried to start conversations as they walked. His attempts were generally futile, but he was not so upset with this. He was feeling stronger and his steps were quicker, his gaze not so withdrawn.

After eight cycles of night and day, the group came to a plateau where they could see across a great valley. The road descended before them, declining through the hills for many miles. The weather was light and they could see no grey clouds on the horizon. They thought they might have seen the worst of the storms.

The men shifted their positions around the sled. It was Tomas and Emre's turn this time. They placed the rope harnesses over their shoulders and let the burden hover down the decline before them, checking its speed and pushing, occasionally, when the road leveled off. In this way they would not loose control as they worked their way down the hillside.

Slowly, day by day, the land leveled, and finally they had made it through the first mountain pass with no problems. But they still had to travel through the flatlands and over the second crop of hills, the other side of which, if Ish's memory was correct, lay the Basin.

**2**

On the fourteenth day of their journey, Parker halted the procession. The wanderers were grateful for a reason to stop and dropped their burdens to the ground. Bosche and Otter turned the sled off and it fell softly to the ground. Parker beckoned Emre' and the older men from the group.

"Look there," he said pointing ahead. The men gazed out across the flat plains to the place where Parker had gestured. Ahead there were patches of land where the snow had relented to the demands of the sun's rays, and outcroppings of rock and bare earth could be seen. But they had been seeing that for days. That couldn't be what Parker was so excited about.

"What," Emre' asked after a moment.

Then they all noticed the small dark figures on the road.

"People!" Emre' said. It was an unnecessary observation, for all the Tribe had noticed them by now. They gathered together, watching as the small dots morphed slowly into a cluster of dark shapes. As they grew closer, the shapes were revealed as thin, darkly clad travelers. There were perhaps a dozen of the wanderers, and the Tribe could see no baggage on them. They pulled no sleds and were spread out in an unorganized fashion, over the width of the road. As the distance between the groups closed, Emre' toyed nervously with the handle of his blade. Otter and Bosche' noticed this, and followed suit.

"Do they even see us?" Mak asked. No one replied, but it did seem that the group had yet to notice the Tribe. Their heads appeared to be cast down. Though, from this distance, it was impossible to tell where their gazes lay.

Mak walked to where Parker stood. "Shall we go ahead and greet them? Check them out?" he asked, his brow creased in concern.

Parker was just about to say yes to this suggestion when, suddenly, the black clad wanderers stopped moving and crouched low, as if this maneuver might offer them some obscurity against the frozen white backdrop.

"I think they've finally seen us," Emre' suggested, withdrawing his blade.

"No," Parker said quickly, reaching over to stay Emre's anxious hand. "Don't let them see you do that. Not yet."

The two groups stood still, straining their eyes against the distance. Then, as one, like a flock of birds changing direction, the dark strangers slipped quickly over the railing of the ancient freeway, down the rocky slope beside it, and onto the flatlands. They moved away rapidly, glancing over their shoulders to see if they were being followed. In a short time the strangers were, once again, little black dots against the white horizon, fleeing towards the clusters of rocks that lie far to the west.

The Tribe watched their flight curiously. "What was all that about?" Tomas muttered, twisting his beard in his fingers.

"Well, whatever it was, it is over and we can be on our way," Parker said, gesturing to the Tribe to hoist their packs up again.

But Emre' turned to face Parker. Concern was in his eyes. "Why were they headed _away_ from the Basin?" he asked. The Tribe stopped lifting their packs. Worried glances were exchanged.

"Maybe they are lost, don't know where they are going," Mak offered when Parker didn't respond.

"We don't know that they were even coming from the Basin," Ish said, defensively.

Parker chose to ignore the question. "Let's get going," he said. "We'll talk of these matters tonight, around the warmth of a fire." But Emre' wasn't giving in so easily.

"We should send two men after them. Let them know we are not dangerous, and find out where they are from, what they might know," he said.

Parker wasn't ready to confront Emre'. Not yet. He had to proceed without challenging the young Chief-in-waiting. "That might be a good idea," he agreed. "But what if _they_ are dangerous."

Emre' didn't miss a beat. "Then why would they run? If they are scared of us, scared of a small group like this, then how can they be dangerous?"

"Maybe they are weak and tired," Parker shot back. "It does not mean they will not defend themselves if they feel cornered. We need everybody here."

Emre' shook his head. "How would they feel cornered by just two?"

"Send the old man after them," Otter interrupted, laughing. "They won't be afraid of him. And if they are, then we know it is probably their own shadows they are running from." Laughter broke out, relieving the tension created by the sight of the strangers. Emre' smiled, too, in spite of his attempt to remain serious. Parker patted the grumbling old hermit on the back.

"No, not even the old man will go. Maybe we will need him soon, too," he said, glad that the situation had been diffused, at least for the time being.

**3**

_Even in the passage of two centuries, Doll had not walked as far as she had in the last few months of her life. In the past, she had been taken places, escorted in vehicles that zipped through the skies or rolled quickly over the ground. In the earliest times the vehicles had been of elaborate design, reflecting the wealth of her keepers. But as the years wore on, her transit was accomplished in simpler craft, and then, when the currents that guided society had become turbulent, she fled in secret, through the dark streets of night._

_Now she made her way as her new family did, over the rough and icy terrain, by the oldest method of transport. She was not tired. She could not get tired. But the unceasing travel, since the their flight from the dead city, was amplifying a sensation that had manifested in her head. Slowly it materialized out of her digital recollections and a longing for the sound that was so close, yet so unavailable, to her._

_The piano had been wrapped and rewrapped with furs and blankets. The Tribe would do all they could to protect it from the cold and wet. It was strapped to the sled that was pulled beside her. But she would not be able to play until they reached the Basin and found a safe place._

_Doll had no mortality looming over her, like her flesh and blood counterparts. But she felt a new anxiety as they traveled. Impatience and frustration would be what she would have called these new, restless spirits, had she been better acquainted with them._

**4**

The Tribe set off again, passing alongside the tracks of the strangers who had fled into the wastes. The prints cut into the distance before them, wavering to and fro across the road. They were an ever-present reminder of the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

Emre' mulled over the tracks as he passed. Why would they have been headed in this direction? He eyed Parker accusingly, but said nothing. Parker saw the look from the corner of his eye, but chose not to address it. It was still a week's journey to the Basin, perhaps longer. The dark strangers could have been coming from anywhere. They could have been lost.

The Chief hitched his shoulders against the cold and began to sing a road song. His voice was strong and determined. After a few verses the rest of the wanderers joined in, their doubts once again set aside.

As the days passed, the tracks were covered by snowfall, and then disappeared altogether.

**5**

By the 21st day of their journey the mountains in the west were looming starkly on the horizon. Every day they had been watching the hills grow closer, more defined in the burning sunsets. From their latest encampment, they could see clearly the point where the road ascended into the snowy hills, in-between the boulders that lay on the mountain slopes, seeming ready to fall at any moment.

They weren't far now, Ish insisted. Perhaps it was not much more than a few days. If the weather continued to be in their favor, and the climb did not prove to be steeper than she remembered, it might be less.

The Tribe's mood was light and they had decided to relax a day, to share some time playing and enjoying the clear skies. The men were too road-worn to fight for sport, but there was banter and singing and even Nayar was afforded some casual conversation. It wasn't full acceptance, but it was enough for the old man.

He had finally grown accustomed to the road. He was stronger now, and his eyes seemed to glow with a new determination. The Tribe didn't know of the memories that still vexed him, memories that had been subdued by his travels and exposure to these vast new environs. The idea of a new beginning filled his heart with something he had not felt in years: hope.

Parker was feeling stronger, too. No longer was his back bent in pain; no more did he have to look away to hide an involuntary grimace. Their supplies were holding out well, and they did not have much farther to go. But Parker was concerned about the shapes of the clouds in the skies above the mountains on the horizon. He had seen that manner of cover before. Fortunately, due to the fair conditions of their journey so far, Emre' had not found another occasion to challenge his command.

Tensions between he and the younger man were light and they talked casually, over the fire at night. The delineation of office had not become an issue between them.

As tensions had diminished, Rosa and Ish started taking turns with the men, again, changing partners each night, loving them and healing their fears in the manner only a woman's touch can achieve. Only Daniel and the old man did not participate in this ritual. Daniel was too young, yet, and none of the women would have Nayar. The old man accepted this rejection with humility.

Bosche's young heart was still yearning for his lost love, but he took what comfort he could from the women, and it was not uncommon for Otter to bed with him, on those nights when the women were elsewhere. This sharing kept them together. They could not allow jealousies, or envy to separate them. They were too few for such divisions.

**6**

On the 25th day of their journey, as they began their slow ascent into the last line of mountains in their path, they came across more tracks on the ground. And they found something that they were not prepared for.

"Look at these, Parker," Emre' called, squatting near the marks. Parker, moving much easier, but still not his old self, waved for the Tribe to wait, and knelt near Emre'. Tomas joined them and they all gazed on a faded cluster of small tracks in the snow.

"Children?" Emre' asked.

Tomas grunted an acknowledgement. Emre' was right. Not one of the tracks seemed to be larger than that of a child. "Has to be little ones, or some very small people," he said, trying to be light. No one laughed. There was something disturbing about the tracks, something fundamentally horrible about a flock of children roaming alone in the wastes.

"Maybe they live out here?" Emre' offered, "Maybe there is a settlement nearby?" But one look at the miles of flatland around them, and the frozen mountains ahead, dismissed that suggestion.

Parker rose and walked across the road, following the tracks to where they disappeared over the side of the railing. It was warmer here, and the air dryer. The tracks, which led off into the flatlands, had mostly faded with the thinning snow.

"How?" he asked aloud. How had a group of children survived so far away from any settlement?

That's when Tomas saw the horror lying further up the snowy asphalt path. He signaled quickly, crouching and scanning the road and flatlands. Parker drew his blade and dashed to the man's side.

Ish saw Tomas's signal, and Parker crouching in the road ahead. The men were alerted. Something was wrong. "Drop and circle!" she hissed. Rosa and Daniel dropped their packs and drew to her side, pinning Doll between them. Otter and Bosche moved protectively around the vulnerable members of the Tribe.

Nayar stood in the road, his hands trembling at the handle of the blade Parker had given him. Would he be able to use it if the situation demanded?

Emre' caught up with Parker and Tomas, and the men stepped closer to the grim mass on the road. Small tracks encircled the area; traveling packs lay torn and unidentifiable items were strewn about. In the center of this chaos lay a terrible sight.

"What do you think killed them?" Emre' asked, grimacing.

There were two of them. Men? Women? It was impossible to tell. They were naked, and what flesh was left of them was ripped, as if torn savagely from their bones. What body parts remained were flung into the road, dried and shrunken, covered in a thin layer of snow. Blood, dried and blackened by exposure, gathered in frozen black puddles that marked the snow around the site.

One of the dead faces was still intact, its flesh, white; its eyes, wide in final shock; its mouth frozen in an eternal scream.

"An animal," Emre' said, answering his own question. "A cat or bear. "

Tomas stepped closer, to study the carnage. The reek was obvious now that he knelt close. It was only the freeze that had subdued it. After observing the scene for moments, he sighed and looked at Parker.

"These are no children. And they have not been dead very long, Parker. This happened within days." He knelt over the pile of bones and studied them carefully. They were mangled and eaten, flesh torn to the bone. "But something's not right…" Tomas said standing. "Something big must be around, but…" the man trailed off.

"But what?" Emre' asked.

"This had to happen fast," Tomas said, his face darkened by his thoughts. If something that big had come at them, surely they would have tried to run and hide. "They would not have died in the middle of an open area like this."

"Tracks, Tomas,'" Mak said, eyeing the roadside nervously. "Something big that leaves no tracks?"

None of the men responded. Their silence was punctuated by the grumble of distant thunder on the air. A storm was raging somewhere ahead.

The others came and gazed quietly on the scene. "What of the little ones?" Rosa asked, when she noticed the small footprints.

Tomas frowned. Parker looked away. Ish moaned at the thought and the others bowed their heads, quietly pondering the fate of the children whose tracks wandered off into the wasteland. Sad memories, not yet diffused of their potency, came back and were struggled with silently. No one would speak such grim thoughts aloud.

"May fate be merciful," Rosa said softly.

"And swift," Emre' added quickly.

"We will keep an eye out," Parker commanded. "Daniel, you will walk in the middle with Ish, now. Doll will walk with you." He turned to their youngest warrior, "Bosche' you will to protect them. Stay alert. Keep your eye on the road. Call a warning if you see anything … odd. Anything!" He squeezed the young man's shoulder. Bosche' pushed up his chest to show he was ready for the task. Parker nodded approvingly. "And now I will take my turn with Emre', pulling the sled." he said.

Emre' looked up at Parker, surprised. Ish shook her head, but said nothing. The man would die trying to prove himself.

"You're ready for that?" Tomas asked, concerned.

Parker nodded slowly. "Let's get going," he said and slipped a harness around his shoulders. Emre' fastened the other harness across his shoulders and they were quickly on their way. Emre' glanced at Parker as they heaved the cargo over the frozen roadway. He wondered if he would prove to be as strong, as unrelenting as this man. Then he thought of the shortsighted decisions that had brought them onto this wasteland, and quickly decided that even strength had its weaknesses. He looked away from Parker, and set his mind on the future, his resentments flaring anew.

**7**

The Tribe continued slowly, silently, each of them carefully scanning the land along the roadside, grateful that it was not forested. There was something alive out there, something hungry. It was reassuring to be able to see as far as they could. They made their way cautiously into the growing foothills, until the light grew too dim. Then camp was broken.

They gathered piles of old sage from alongside the road and a decent fire was built. They huddled together against the cold, doing their best to remain light of heart. But conversation was stilted and much that lay between them was left unspoken. When it came time to sleep, they went back to the old arrangements and the women shared their tent with Doll while the men slept alone, and alert.

There would be no distractions tonight. It was too dangerous and they had to be prepared for anything.

In the deep of the night Parker was aroused by the sound of someone calling his name. He groaned from little aches and pains as he slipped from his fur and walked out into the cold night. Pulling the giant sled had taken its toll, and he knew he taken his turn before his body was ready. But such was the responsibility of his office.

The wind had died and clouds had cleared so that the sky was a canopy of glittering stardust. The fire was nothing but crackling embers.

"Parker," the voice came again, "Over here." It was Bosche'. Parker walked to the young man's side, stretching his sleep away. "Look there, in the south," Bosche' whispered, pointing into the darkness. Far in the distance there was a speck of flame. It was no more than a glowing yellow dot on the horizon. It must have been miles away. "There is someone there, Parker. Maybe the children?" Bosche' suggested.

Parker shrugged. It was a meaningless gesture in the dark "Could be," he admitted. "They are too far to tell." But something bothered him. It was nothing he could identify, but he had to trust his instinct. "Don't rebuild the fire, let it simmer low. The night is lifting soon and…" then he realized what bothered him. "And whoever would maintain a fire so large, this deep into the night, is up to something strange." The two stood quietly for a time, watching the distant glow.

Eventually Parker yawned to announce his departure. "Let's hope it is their fire that attracts whatever beast is roaming the night," he chuckled before he went back to his tent. Bosche returned the laughter, but stopped as soon as Parker was gone.

The remainder of the night passed uneventfully.

.


	14. Chapter 14

**The Porcelain Doll**

**Chapter XIV**

**1**

Dawn came and the travelers broke camp quickly, moving with a heightened alertness. In spite of the grim images from the day before, and the worrisome clouds that had gathered above the mountains ahead, their spirits were light. The Basin was only days away, Ish insisted. She studied the rocky pass that cut into the hills and was sure this was the road she had traveled so long ago.

"We are close, now," she told them. They hoisted their things and started moving. Their hearts filled with new hope as they started climbing into what they were sure would be the last range of hills separating them from their destination.

The road began to ascend. Giant boulders loomed alongside the Tribe, sitting atop rocky hills. The massive rocks were balanced precariously on the backs of other boulders, as if mischievous spirits had placed them there to scare off intruders. The Roamers passed through the immense shadows cautiously, wondering how, in all these centuries, the boulders had not fallen. Every sound they made was reverberated back from the rock giants.

Daniel took advantage of the natural sound effect to listen to his own cries echo through the hills. But Ish quickly put a stop to that. There was still something out there, she explained, something that might be watching them this very moment. So they continued in cautious silence, certain, at times, that they had heard the clattering of rocks falling, or muffled animal noises in the deep gullies that ran between the clustered rocks.

They were nearing the crest of a hill when Parker decided they should rest. The clouds were growing grey and ominous, and swirls of dirt and snow raced from crags and over the road as the wind rose. Parker was disturbed by this weather. He paced anxiously as the others dropped their packs and relaxed. His eyes were set on the troubled clouds. He had seen that type of turbulence before.

Ish had just freed a jerky stick from her pouch and handed it to Daniel when something caught her eye. She looked up and couldn't believe what she was seeing. She rose to her feet pointing a trembling finger towards a cluster of rocks on the tip of a large hill.

"Parker!" she said excitedly. The man broke from his thoughts and turned to see Ish pointing. He followed the path of her excited gesture and his heart jumped. The others noticed, too, and they all fell silent.

"Children!" Daniel exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

Standing along the ledge of a large bolder that balanced on the tip of the hill, stood a group of small figures. They seemed to line the entire crest of the rock. There must have been twenty or more of them, all bundled in thick animals skins and furry boots. They were close enough for their faces to be seen, but their expressions were hidden beneath their woolly hoods.

All, that is, except one.

He stood in the center of the group, his chin held high. He was a large, olive skinned boy, clad only in a single slip of animal skin that was fitted loosely over his torso. He could be no more than a year or two older than Daniel, but his gaze was menacing like no child any of them had ever seen. His frame was covered in small bruises and scars, visible even in the distance, and his head was bald, sporting only one long braid of black hair that ran down the length of his body. The boy's chin was high and his face bore a grimace that caused even Parker discomfort.

"What the hell?" Nayar said, stepping back. But he caught himself. He was determined to not let the Tribe see his fear. He didn't know that he was not alone in his concern.

Moments passed in silence. Ish pulled Daniel to her side, but the boy struggled against her grasp and walked closer to the rocks. He had never seen other children and was excited at the prospect of meeting them.

Rosa stepped to Daniel's side, a sigh on her lips. The sight of the ragged children disturbed her heart. She pulled her hood back and her hair danced on a sudden wind. She waved and smiled, to let the children know the Tribe was not dangerous.

That was when the angry looking boy let out a shrill cry that echoed throughout the hills.

"_Yaaaaa!"_ the boy screamed. His voice echoed through the rocks. It was a shrill, fierce sound. The men of the Tribe automatically placed their hands on the handles of their blades.

Rosa turned and shamed them for their actions. "You'll scare them away," she said, angrily.

Emre' shook his head and laughed at the other men. "What are you all afraid of? They are children," he scoffed.

"They could be scouts!" Mak barked. But Emre waved away the concern, causing Otter to unexpectedly second Mak's suggestion. Ish shushed them all.

But when they glanced back up, the rock was deserted. The children had vanished into the crags along the roadside. For moments the Tribe could hear the pattering of small feet echoing in the stone gullies; the clattering of stones and childish laughter. Then there was only silence.

Rosa sighed, and glared at Parker as if to say, "I told you so." But Parker dismissed this slight and eyed Tomas. Tomas caught the look and a realization passed between them. Neither man spoke their thoughts.

"How can they survive out here?" Ish wondered aloud, when the shock of the sight had worn off.

"Let's go," Parker said finally, as if nothing had happened. "We can do nothing for them and we have to move quickly." They hoisted their packs and quietly began their journey. No one spoke of the encounter.

Mak and Otter were pulling the sled, now. It hummed over the surface of the road behind them. The Tribe walked protectively around it, watching the hills cautiously, as they headed up the pass and into the mountains.

The skies were growing troubled ahead. They forced their thoughts away from the strange children, remembering better days behind or imagining those that lie ahead, in the Basin; the greenery of the land and the wild game that roamed the woods. It would be better there. It had to be better. They had left so much behind.

**2**

As the sun reached began its slow descent, the skies became tremulous. Dismal grey clouds formed disturbing shapes that seemed alive with slow, inner activity. The shapes reminded Nayer of something.

"Dark Horse" he muttered. He cringed when he realized that he had spoken aloud. But the wind had muffled his voice and he was grateful tat no one heard. He did not want to explain his ominous hallucinations.

Parker swore at the sound of thunder rolling through the hills ahead. The wind roared and kicked up dust from the ragged landscape, throwing of over the Tribe, stinging their faces

Then an angry cry came from behind him.

Parker turned at the sound, his weapon drawn and ready. But it was Mak he saw, shrugging his huge shoulders. Otter stood behind him, kicking the sled, his face burning in frustration.

"It's dead!" Otter yelled again and paced in an angry circle. The Tribe dropped their packs and gathered around the sled. Its was resting on the snow-covered road, pressing down with all the weight of its cargo.

"Damn to this thing!" Parker yelled, above the rising wind. He tossed his pack down and struggled with the controls on the sled's protruding handle. "How does it work?"

Emre' came to his side and the two men pondered the controls. "It's the batteries," Emre' said, anxiously. He turned to Nayar. "Old man! Come help us," he called. But Nayar did not respond. He was gazing up the road, his brows pinched in concern, his hand pointing at something that ahead of them.

A small group of hooded figures stood there, their faces indiscernible in the gloom of the overcast sky.

"More children," Parker said, instantly forgetting his troubles with the sled. "Where are the others?" he thought aloud.

"Only one way to find out," Emre' said, and walked towards the silent group. Parker stepped quickly behind Emre', angered that the young man had acted without waiting for his call. He motioned for Mak to follow, and signaled the others to wait behind.

"They're only children," Emre' said, when he noticed Parker's concerned expression. He was further annoyed when Parker gripped the handle of his weapon. "There is no need to scare them with that," Emre' said incredulously. But as they neared the group, he too became troubled by the way the little ones stared blankly ahead.

Their faces were visible, now, under their thick hoods. These were gaunt, hollow eyes that peered at the men. Were they boys or girls? He could not tell. Parker took control of the situation and moved forward, stopping just yards from the little ones.

"Where is your tribe?" he asked loudly, over the hiss of the rising wind. But the small ones did not reply. "How did you get here?" he asked. Still they were quiet, as if they did not understand. They stood unmoving, watching, as if they were …

"…waiting for something to happen," Parker finished his thought aloud. "Weapons!" he ordered, racing back to the group. He slid his dagger from its sheath and the Tribe clustered together, weapons in hand, confused gazes all around.

"Don't let them see your confusion," Parker hissed and ran back to Ish. "Keep the Machine woman with you," he commanded, and then looked at Daniel skeptically. "And the boy. Stay within our circle."

"What are you doing, Parker?" Emre' asked, as he walked back among the Tribe. "This is going too far. They are little children. What do you think they will do?"

"Not now!" Parker yelled. "We must act together, they are not alone."

Emre' scanned the roadside. There was nothing. "Maybe," he answered, "but we did not see any adult tracks, remember?"

"We didn't see any animal tracks, either," Tomas said.

Emre' turned to face the man. "What are you saying?" he asked. But even as the words escaped his mouth, he understood what the others had realized. He drew his weapon and quickly slid into the circle the men had formed around the women and Daniel.

"What is wrong?" Daniel asked Ish, annoyed that he was not allowed to go and meet the children. Ish had brandished the evil looking blade that she had taken from the fallen leader of the raiders, and placed her arm protectively around Daniel. She eyed the land on either side of the road. Boulders and gullies lined the broken mountainside. So many places to hide, she thought.

"They are wild, Daniel," is all she would say.

But Daniel had finally realized for himself the meaning of the missing animal tracks, of the slaughtered and eaten bodies. He understood the sudden fear.

"I need a knife," he said urgently.

Ish pulled her dagger from her vest and gave it to the boy.

Then they all turned at the sudden, shrill cry of a child's voice.

"_Yayayayayaya!"_ came the cry that tore through the rising wind, echoing off the rocks and dancing all around them_, "Yayayayayayaya!_" as if a child's game was being played.

Parker turned and saw the boy with the angry snarl and feral eyes, rushing up behind them. He was bare to the cold; his cloth of animal hide was whipped back by the wind. But this did not seem to affect him as he came for them, his face burning with an expression of unbridled hatred.

_"Yayayayayayaya!"_ the boy screamed. Other children crawled from the gullies, into the road beside him, teeth bared and eyes wild. The children who had distracted the Tribe began to voice the chant too, moving quickly behind the shocked nomads.

They were surrounded.

Nayar backed into the circle of the Tribe, his blade trembling in his hands. His feet would have him flying, if there were any avenue of escape. But there was none he could see. So he stood his ground, shaking, muttering prayers that he had not voiced for decades.

The attackers stopped, just out of striking range of the huddled Tribe. They snarled and spat at the blades that swished before them. The Tribe reeled in horror at the sight of innocent faces twisted in animal aggression.

The wild boy approached them confidently, and stopped just beyond the range of Parker's blade. They could see now that his skin was calloused and broken in places, and his wounds lined with dark scabs. More horribly, the boy's teeth seemed to have been filed, so that they formed jagged points. The feral child must have known the effect his dagger teeth would have on the huddled nomads, for he bared them in a gleeful, savage smile.

"Back!" Parker yelled, thrusting his blade defensively. "I will cut you!" he barked through the renewed pain of his wounds. But the feral boy just gritted his teeth in a mocking grin, threw his head back, and let out another piercing cry. Then he edged towards Parker slowly, as if he knew the man was Chief.

"Back!" Parker bellowed. There was a desperation in his voice that none of the Tribe had heard before. The sound of his fear cut through the rising wind and echoed off the rocks. "Don't make me do this, boy!" he cried, swinging his blade threateningly. He feigned a cut at the boy, to scare him off. But the wild child reacted with animal speed, dodged and jumped closer, making Parker strike again.

It occurred Parker that the boy was trying to provoke an attack, to draw him out of the huddle. Each time his blade missed, the boy cried out in triumph, emboldening the other children to move closer to the horrified Tribe.

Emre saw Parker's pain and understood his hesitation. He jumped towards the feral child, but the Chief intercepted him. "No!" Parker yelled, pushing Emre' back and kicking at the boy, who had taken the opportunity to jump at them again.

But the boy dodged the kick easily. He then began to prance around the huddled tribe, in the way that boys taunt one another. The other children laughed and yelled at the terrified nomads in a sharp, guttural tongue. The nomads had never heard the language before. The sound of it chilled their hearts.

The wild boy suddenly turned and bowed to the other children, as if he was putting on a show. When their laughter finally died, the boy turned back to the Tribe. He assessed the Roamers quietly for a moment, his face strangely calm. Then he looked over his shoulder and nodded his head.

The first rock hit Rosa. It struck her on the side of her head and she screamed out, swinging her weapon wildly to ward of any others. The next rock struck Emre who had sensed it at the last moment. It grazed his shoulder as he ducked. Another hit Otter, who bellowed angrily and swung at the children nearest him. Then Bosche was hit, and Mak, and Ish, who folded herself protectively around Daniel and braced her cloaked arm against the attack.

Soon rocks were being pelted from all directions. The nomads reacted quickly; picking them up and heaving them back at the predators. The little ones fell back, but the assault intensified. The air was quickly filled with the rock missiles flying back and forth, rending angry cries from each side.

The wild boy took advantage of the confusion to spurn his army on. He boldly jumped on Parker, his teeth bared and snapping. The man shoved the boy away and swung his blade, felt it connect. He heard the wet thud of its penetration and the boy's cry of pain and surprise. His heart cried, too, as the child fell back, his blood flowing from a new and savage wound.

In a sudden rush of ferocity, the feral children pounced on the Tribe, tugging and biting at their fur coats, trying to find a place where the flesh was exposed. Their attack was wild, unrelenting, like a pack of starving wolves.

Rosa cried as she slashed at a small attacker. She felt her strike connect, and then had to turn quickly, to ward off another. Tears of rage and sorrow blurred her sight as she swung wildly.

Mak and Tomas tried not to use their blades, but the intensity of the assault was too much, and they struck into the gang of small cannibals.

Bosche and Otter hacked at the children that had gathered around Ish and Daniel, trying to drive them back. But there were so many. The young warriors kicked and slashed, screaming as they fought for their lives.

Emre' felt no hesitation. He was fighting to protect his Tribe. His blade struck true and without mercy. He did not try to ward them off with his cries but fell into their attack, his blade flowing red with their blood.

Nayar's fear could no longer be contained. All around him the wild children were bounding into the defensive cluster of people, without regard for their own vulnerability. The horrified adults screamed with the pain of the small bites, and the deeper pain of their savage counter attack. Nayar looked wildly for an escape, and saw a glimmer of hope. Without hesitating, he ran, dodging the wild children as he went.

Ish cried, as she struck, ripping a tear into a small girl's coat, from which blood immediately flowed. The wild child screamed but did not stop her assault. Ish steeled herself and struck again. The attack stopped and the little one backed away with an expression of pain and dismay on her face. But others quickly took her place.

'_Don't look!'_ her heart cried_. 'Don't think of what you are doing!'_ But she could not hide from what was happening. Daniel pressed protectively against her, and her face was wet with tears as she struck at one child, and then another and another, sending them reeling in pain from their wounds. She turned, finally, and raced from the attack, weeping openly, embracing Daniel with one arm, flailed her weapon with the other.

Daniel screamed when he saw the wild children descend on Doll, who was standing alone and still, watching the fight with detached curiosity. "Get away!!" he yelled, breaking free of Ish's protective embrace. He dashed at the group that surrounded Doll, ripping at her dress and trying in vain to gnaw on her flesh.

"Daniel! NO!" Ish screamed, but the boy broke away and made for his Machine. Mak saw Daniel make his dash to the robot's side, and the group of feral children that followed him. The warrior yelled a warning, but a gang of children jumped at him and there was no way they could get to the boy in time.

Daniel suddenly felt as if he were in a nightmare. He screamed with rage as he swung his knife at one of the children, and felt his blade hit the child's coat. He did not wait to see what happened to the boy. Suddenly he was at Doll's side. Her face held an expression of alarm, her eyes were wide with surprise.

"Doll! Come with me!" he screamed, pulling on her arm. But he stopped when he heard the hissing of the predators that had surrounded him. The exhilaration of his rescue attempt evaporated as he realized that he was isolated from the rest of the Tribe. Daniel screamed as he felt someone grab at his coat from behind. He turned and lashed with his knife, but numerous hands were suddenly on him, and the cries of the Tribe were lost under the hissing shrieks of his attackers.

Something fell from the suddenly sky. The feral children jumped off Daniel and backed away, bracing themselves against the sudden hail. They looked to see the road covered with shiny plastic wrappers.

"Food!" Nayar yelled, throwing another handful of the synthetics into the air. The man had worked his way to the sled, fighting through the onslaught of small attackers. He kicked another wild child away as he tossed handfuls of protein bars, dried meat and veggie patties into the air. "Eat! Eat!" he yelled. The savage children eyed the old man cautiously, ignoring the synthesized nourishment, preparing for another assault. Nayar saw this and quickly ripped opened a veggie-pack with his teeth. He began to chew dramatically, rubbing his hand over his stomach and making exaggerated sounds of delight, hoping they would understand. "Mmmmm!" he hummed through a mouthful of the dehydrated extract.

Parker was doing his best not to use his blade, when he saw Nayar. His hope surged. Using all his strength, he tossed aside his attackers and ran to the sled, assailants on his heels. All around him he could hear the screams of predators and prey alike, as they struggled for life. He jumped onto the sled, reached into the huge pack, and ripped open a meat stick. He mimicked Nayar's actions and soon his attackers stopped, watching him with sudden guarded curiosity.

One of the savage children reached down, picked up a stick and stared at it. Then he began to gnaw on the thing, ripping through the package quickly and chewing on the contents. He quickly devoured the bar. Others saw this and tried too. Soon a small group of them had ceased their attack and were scrambling to retrieve the small food bars from the ground.

"It's working!" Parker yelled. He turned to the Tribe and yelled. "Throw them food! Show them how to eat!" he bellowed, his voice thin against the rising wind.

Tomas was reeling from his own wounds, batting at the attackers, when he heard Parker and saw the sticks lying on the ground around him. He swung his strong arms in a great arc, throwing the small ones away from him, and grasped a patty from the ground. He then began chewing on it, making a dramatic display for his assailants, who were preparing for a renewed attack. The children stopped to watch. Then they looked at their feral counterparts who had already begun to gnaw on the strange food. Immediately they followed suit and in moments the feeding frenzy had changed focus.

Daniel dashed to Doll's side and began to lead her away. There were indents in the exposed flesh of the Machine's arm where the children had tried to penetrate her flesh. But the bites quickly smoothed and disappeared. Such was her design.

**3**

_She had been dismayed at the sharp pains the little ones had caused her, but they had quickly stopped and stepped away, grimacing and looking at her oddly. They'd left her and jumped to assist in the attacking of others, but their focus changed again when the small shining packets had fallen on the ground around them. Doll stepped away from the group of ravenous cannibals, her head reeling with a new indescribable sensation__._

**4**

Nayar dipped his hands into the pack of rations and emptied heaps of them onto the frozen road. Parker joined him, and the two men had soon thrown half the huge container onto the ground.

"Let them be!" Parker yelled when the predators were fully occupied with the new food. In moments the Tribe was a distance up the road, breathlessly looking back on the feeding frenzy around the sled.

Ish wept openly; the pain of feeling her blade strike against the wild children burned in her heart. The others were silent, staring at the feeding horde as they caught their breath. The wind had risen, it was tearing at them now, and they had to yell above it to hear.

"We We cannot let them take it all!" Emre' yelled.

"Should we go and take it from them?" Parker responded.

"No, Parker! You're right," Emre screamed back, "Let them have it. We can just starve out here!"

"The Piano!" Daniel bellowed. "What about the piano?"

Suddenly, as if someone had adjusted the controls of the world, the wind died down and a low moan filled the sky. The crazed, feeding children looked up at once, their eyes scanning the skies frantically. As one, like a herd of plains beasts sensing the presence of a great Cat, they dashed from the road, over the railing, and disappeared into the rocky gullies.

The Tribe did not have time to ponder the sudden retreat. They turned at the sound of rocks crashing on the hills behind them. Above them, like the accusing finger of an angry, neglectful god, a swirling bank of dark clouds was descending, racing in their direction.

"_A whip!"_ Parker yelled and fell to the ground. It was too late to flee. Ish jumped forward, knocking over Doll and the boy, covering them in her heavy bulk as the Whip of God smacked the road, throwing a chaotic hail of rock and ice in all directions. The Tribe fell to the ground, covering their heads, bracing against this powerful new attacker. The voice of the whip was a horrendous sound, a wail of the furious earth fighting to move her frozen limbs. The world roared as the twister barreled over the place they lay. The chaotic tube of frenzied air grabbed at rocks and threw them everywhere. Rocks smashed into the road and the craggy mountainside; vicious, deadly projectiles, shooting over the heads of the cowering nomads. They could only lay in the road, terrorized and helpless, their faces buried into their hands, their terrified screams lost in the chaos.

And then it was over. As suddenly as it had begun, the wind moved away with the whip, out over the hills, throwing a hail of rocks and debris against the road and the hillsides, as it fled over the tips of the huge boulders. The earth's breath slowed, not a howl anymore, but the humble moan of a weary planet's resignation.

One by one the Tribesmen rose on shaky legs. Their eyes scanned the skies and roadside quickly for any more threats. But all they could see was the screaming twister fleeing like a thin, mocking lunatic, dancing maniacally over the rocky landscape.

Daniel broke the silence. "It's still there!" the boy yelled, and they all followed his gesture. Amazingly the piano was sitting on the sled. The whip had jumped right over them.

Daniel boy raced for the instrument and Ish followed quickly, calling him back. Doll walked after him, thinking of nothing but the device that held the sound that drove her.

"We've got to get it now!" Daniel yelled when Ish tried to grab him. "They're going to come back! We've got to get it now!" he repeated, and pulled away from her. The old music box was riddled with small scratches, and a palm sized rock had imbedded itself in the wood on its side. Daniel pried open the fur wrapping that covered the piano and quickly scanned the keyboard and strings. He sighed, seeing that they were intact.

Emre' raced to the sled, his face twisted in anger and pain from his bites and bruises "Boy, we have to go!" he said angrily. He began shoveling the remains of the food supplies into his coat pockets and bag. "Take what you can hold and let us go before those crazy killers come back. "

"Don't call me boy, damn you!" Daniel yelled. "I'm not a boy anymore!"

Emre' glared incredulously at the youngster. "What does it matter what I call you? They will call you food!" he yelled, pointing to where the attackers had fled.

"Don't fight! Don't fight!" Ish screamed at them both, surprised by the frantic edge in her voice. She turned away from them to see that the others had arrived and were picking up what little food the whip had left behind.

"But we can't leave the piano!" Daniel cried. "Doll needs it!" he screamed. He had to make them understand.

"We don't have time for the box!" Emre' bellowed, "We have to leave now, before-."

"Don't worry about them," Parker interrupted. Emre' turned to see the man standing at the edge of the road, staring out over the landscape. His face was grim and his tears rolled freely.

Tears? Emre' was taken back by the sight. He ever seen Parker cry? They all stared uncomfortably at their Chief. Then they followed the man's gaze and were struck speechless.

On the hills around the road, in places where they could not have climbed on their own, small furry shapes lay still, strewn about rocks and wedged into the cracks between the boulders. A careless God had pronounced its judgment, and executed that verdict.

Farther out into the distance there was a scattering of small shapes fleeing over the rocks, out onto the flat lands to the south. The stunned nomads could hear distant screams of the children fading on the now still air. Their cries were the sound of a lost future, crying for mothers and fathers that had long ago ceased to be solace or protection from an angry world. Their cries were the sound of the end of all things precious, of all things sacred.

Ish could contain herself no longer. She dropped to her knees, lost in grief. _"Noooo…"_ she screamed to the skies, and to the rocks, and to the asphalt relic of a dead civilization. "_Noooooo,_" she cried, to the silent gods and the devils they could not control. She cried unabashedly, her voice wavering like the whine of a small child. Her arms cradled bleeding memories, and she rocked them to sleep. Let them sleep to suffer no more. Let them sleep.

Rosa moved against the inertia of her own shock, and came to comfort Ish. Her head bled where she had been struck with a rock, and many bites had penetrated her coat. But no wound hurt more than the sight of the unmoving bodies on the boulders around them. The two women hugged, comforting each other in the frozen road as the men grappled with the strength of their own emotions.

Mak opened his mouth to say something, but no words would come. Tomas didn't even try. He looked down at the road and let the sadness take its course. Bosche and Otter stood quietly, regaining their breath, not comprehending the weight of what they witnessed.

Parker tried to contain himself but his body rocked with the effort. He had to be strong! He was their leader! But the sight of the small lifeless bodies tore a wound into him like no warrior's blade had ever done.

Emre' eyes were elsewhere. He saw something that the others did not seem to grasp. He saw that a threat had been neutralized by chance. His rage flamed and he jumped onto the piano, screaming to get their attention.

"We must go now!" he yelled. "We cannot help them! They would just try to kill us again! If we are to take the stupid box, then let us do it now! Before we run out of what food we have left!"

He jumped from the piano and marched quickly back and forth as he scolded them "We are still alive! This world will not beat us! We have lived through everything! Get up!" he yelled at Rosa and Ish who still cradled one another. "Get up!"

Parker broke from his gray thoughts, angered by the young man's words "Stop this, Emre'!" he commanded. But when he saw the look in Emre's eyes, he realized that a new storm had risen. It had been brewing for months and had finally arrived, at the worst of times.

"You stupid, stupid old man!" the young warrior yelled, burning with ferocity as he paced around Parker. "We could have stayed in the city until the skies were warm again! We had enough food! We had buildings to search! But you chose to come out to this wasteland, where we will die!" The youth stepped forward with a new dangerous light in his eyes.

"And I am more the ass for following you!" he said. His blade appeared in his hand.

Parker wanted to point out that the weather was never going to change, that it should already be warm, but the snow still fell. He wanted to explain that if they had not left, if they had kept devouring what supplies they had, there wouldn't have been enough left to get them this far. But he knew that Emre' would not hear him.

The Tribe backed away as the men squared off. Ish started to rise, to plea for peace. But it was too late. The moment had come and would now claim its due.

The first clash of their blades echoed out over the hills, and the wind rose as if provoked by the sound. Parker backed away, his sword raised defensively.

"No, Emre'!" he shouted. "This is not the time!"

But the young warrior was far beyond the call of reason. He rushed forward and swung again. His swing was quick and true. Parker dodged and blocked, but the unexpected power in Emre's strike surprised him. He parried and swung low with the flat of his blade, hoping to sweep Emre's feet from beneath him. But Emre was quicker than Parker had expected. He leapt and lashed out with his leg. Parker felt his side flare as Emre's foot landed solidly against the wound the Smart Soldier had inflicted. Parker dropped to one knee, his body shaking.

"Young dog!" Mak yelled angrily, and stepped toward the battle. But he was stayed by Tomas' grip on his coat. He turned, furious, to protest Emre's strike, but Tomas was nodding his head toward Bosche' and Otter, who had unsheathed their blades and were gazing expectantly on the two older men.

"Let the challenge stand," Tomas said, and held his open palms to the young men, to show there would be no interference.

Emre' paced a wide circle while Parker collected himself, fighting pain as he rose to his feet and caught his breath. Emre' could have attacked, but did not. Parker nodded to acknowledge this. Emre' glared back to show he was not motivated by any sense of mercy, that his actions had been calculated to assure the others would respect his office. This communication passed between them in the language of their faces. Then they took their stances again.

Emre' attacked, his blade flashing in the grey light of the overcast sky. Parker fought harder now, hacking into Emre's attack with renewed passion. Thunder boomed in the distance as the men struck and blocked and parried and thrust. But soon Parker found himself kneeling again, his breath lost in the fire in his side. Emre' paced an angry circle around the man, like a Cat waiting for his prey to collapse from exhaustion.

Parker stood, again, and started to take his stance. But he was old and wounded, and his heart burned from the violence he had inflicted on the flesh of a child. He stung, and would always sting, from that memory. Let the young man take over, he decided. It was his time.

Mak and Tomas could not believe their eyes as Parker's shoulders slumped and his head dropped in resignation. "You are right, Emre'," the man said, his palm held out in surrender.

Emre' hesitated a moment. He had expected his challenge to last longer, to the point where one of them was sent to the Shadows. He was certainly prepared for that prospect. But, to sounds of shock and incredulity from the Tribe, Parker let his blade fall to the ground.

Emre' turned and eyed a challenge at Mak and Tomas. Their faces changed from disbelief to suspicion as they exchanged stares. But Tomas finally stepped forward, head down and hands held out to his side. Mak stepped up quickly after him, reluctantly shadowing this gesture.

Emre' nodded back at the two senior men. It was done. He was in charge. But there was no time to celebrate this sudden shift of power.

"It is too late to turn back," Emre' yelled, slipping his weapon into his sheath. "Gather what you can from the road and put it back into the packs." He turned his attention to the mourning women.

"Ish and Rosa, get up _now_! There will be time for crying, later." He turned to Daniel next, and the look in his eyes told the boy that this was no time to speak out of line.

"You are a boy until I say you are not!" he commanded. "You will tend to your Machine lady and keep her safe, and the women will keep you safe and…" he turned then, to Nayar, and his face was uncertain. The old man was breathing with difficulty, rocking from the stress of their adventure. But he gazed back at the new Chief with unflinching eyes.

Emre's look softened. "You saved us with your actions, old man, and for that I will forgive your cowardice. You can consider yourself one of us, if that is what you want. But now we must go!" He turned to Otter and Bosche and waved them over to his side. There was hesitation, confusion that the reigns had been passed so quickly. But they obeyed his beckon. He was right, there was little time.

"Where is Doll?" Daniel asked, suddenly. Then he saw her standing over a small form that lay in the road. He went to retrieve her, and stopped when he saw what it was she gazed upon.

**5**

_This is not the first malevolent face she has seen, but it is the youngest. Doll ponders the fierce expression, the savage, gritted teeth, the accusing eyes, and the tears that flow from them. Are these the eyes that have haunted the world and left it in ruins? Are these the eyes at the hearts of the men who care not for things of beauty? She ponders, innocently, this spirit, this anger that would curse everything it touches. _

**6**

The boy was struggling with pain, his face still set in the mask of anger he had worn for the length of his short life. His body was covered in blood from Parker's deadly blow. Tears of rage, and hatred as thick as his blood, welled from his eyes as he gazed at the people who stood over him. He didn't understand what had happened, why his army had been driven back. They had overwhelmed greater numbers than these before. It was how they lived when no one had been left to provide for them. They had learned to take what they needed. But the other travelers had always been weary and hungry. These had been strong and fast.

He snarled up at the pale, golden haired boy and the others that came to gaze down on him. He reached up, as the Shadows came to embrace him, and twisted his fingers into a fist. He opened his mouth and bared his teeth, but had no breath left with which to curse them. He retreated into darkness.

The feral child's body buckled and then stiffened, as he passed into the Shadows. No one spoke. There was nothing left to say. Ish put her arm around Daniel, and led him away. The boy called out to Doll who followed obediently. The others backed away, numbed by the death that lay all around them.

Parker knew what spectacle held their attention, but he dared not go among them. He need not look on that sight. It would always remain in his head.

"We go now," Emre' said, after a respectful silence. They had a life yet to lead.

Quickly they harnessed the piano, using the strength of three men now that the sled was to be dragged over the surface of the snow. Soon they were on the move, making slow but steady progress with their burden, wary of what new threats might lay ahead.

.


	15. Chapter 15

**The Porcelain Doll**

**Chapter XIV**

**1**

The winds rose and fell during the night. Within its unrelenting cry, the Tribe thought they heard desperate voices calling for help. It was only the wind, they assured themselves, but the sounds were no less haunting.

Ish was huddled in a tent with Rosa and Daniel, cupping her ears against the ghost voices. But she could not hide from the images in her memory. Rosa did her best to comfort the woman, but her own heart was broken and she eventually withdrew into herself, hugging her legs and rocking back and forth like a child.

Daniel had never seen the women like this. He could not stand to watch. Silently he slipped from their tent and into the heavy canvass with the men. They looked up as he entered, their faces grim and pondering. The change of command was official. But there was tension between the younger and older men. They sat together in silence, eyes cast down at a small flame.

Emre' shot a dark look at Daniel, as if he was about to object to the boy's presence. But he finally waved his hand, permitting the boy to sit. Daniel snuggled in between Mak and Parker. The men parted, to make room for him. But neither spoke.

The dark mood troubled Daniel, but he was encouraged to see Nayar sitting with the others. The old man's face was as drawn and as pensive as the rest. But when he looked at Daniel, a strange expression broke on his features. It was a look that that Daniel could not read but, as the man's gaze lingered, it seemed to the boy that there was a new light in the old eyes. Daniel smiled back at his friend. Nayar winked, and turned to eye the brooding men around him.

"You know, I never had any folks like you," he said, breaking the silence. The Tribesmen fixed their eyes on the old man. "I was always on the outside," he continued, fixing each one of their gazes for a moment. "You folks got a good thing here. You got family, and…" he looked hard at Parker, "That's something worth fighting for, even when it feels like the wrong thing to do." Parker said nothing, but something warm crossed his face.

Nayar looked at Emre' then, his face twisted and his eyes brimming with aged regret. "You was right about me, young man. I been running from something… running for a long time." His voice hitched in the depth of an emotion. "I let some people down a long time ago. That is to say, I let 'em … die."

No one said anything. They waited until Nayar was ready to continue. After a dark introspection, the old man spoke.

"I came up to the towers when I was just a young man. I had been living with my folks in some old ruins in the hills. But I hooked up with some roamers headed west. Said there was good salvaging on the coast. My people was on the verge, anyway. Getting old. Nothing was growing anymore. So I tagged along, thinking these folks might be on to some treasure.

"We roamed for a year or so, hunting, hooking up with different folk. But we never quite made it to the coast. Then we found this place, and the old hoarders stash, and figured to hang out a spell. There was only about 5 of us left. The others had already went their own way. Never seen 'em since." He dropped his head.

"Well, one day we was diggin' around in one of the old towers, thinking we might find something we could use. That's when the floor fell through. Everybody went … 'cept me. I was…" He stopped again and wiped a tear from his face.

"You don't have to tell us this," Parker said.

"Yes I do," Nayar countered quickly. "I was outside when it happened. The floor gave and they all got buried under wood and steel. There was old machines too, fell on top of 'em. I could hear their screams. … I could hear 'em calling out to me.

"But I was afraid to get near the place. So I ran." The men gazed on him through hard, unsympathetic eyes. But Nayar did not flinch from their judgments. His gaze was distant as he continued.

"I used to see this... thing. It was like a cloud or a mist, would come around and hang over my building whenever I took sick. Wasn't quite sure what it was, or if it was even there, but I called it Dark Horse. I figured it was death coming to take me for that last ride. But for some reason, it never did." He looked at the silent accusing eyes, as if asking for an explanation.

"I can still hear them screamin'," he said. "Every night when I lay my head down, I hear 'em. I know I deserve those nightmares, even if they last for the rest of my life.

"But you folks gave me another chance when I really didn't really deserve none."

He looked directly at Emre', locking his eyes. "I can never undo what's done, but I tell you now, I'll never let you folks down, never again." He smiled then, as the weight of his guilt was lifted by the confession. "And when that ol' Dark Horse finally comes for me, I will ride with no regrets, grateful to have spent my last days in the company of people so decent and strong as you all."

The strength of Nayar's emotion was contagious, and Emre's hard expression broke. The men looked around self-consciously, unsure which of them might be deserving of such compliments. But they all eventually nodded to accept the old man's words.

"And I am gonna get me a woman, too! Because it has been too damned long since I had me some lovin'!" Nayar slapped his knee and donned a broken toothed smile that made the older men laugh. "And I am gonna find me a nice little place where I can relax and get away from all these noisy young-un's with their damned stories!" he said, and reached across to ruffle Daniel's hair. The boy feigned insult and pushed Nayar's hand away. All of the men laughed. Even Emre' let a snicker pass his lips.

Mak's face brightened. "And I will hunt some real food for a change!" he said.

"And I am going for a swim!" Otter added, laughing, "Do you remember the last time you went for a swim?"

"And we'll be able to plant crops," Parker said, his face full of fond memories. "Grow food and herbs."

Soon they were all fighting to tell their plans for the future. One by one they fantasized aloud about the life that lay ahead. Their spirits grew stronger, their voices louder as their plans unfolded. Quickly they began to sound like all those nights along the trail so long ago.

Daniel slipped out of the tent while the men were loudly debating whose story would be next. None of them noticed him leaving. He was back in moments, and he was not alone.

The men stopped talking as the women entered the tent with the boy. The women's tears had dried and the warmth of their smiles was something the men hadn't seen for a long time. Ish and Rosa slipped in among their men and the Tribe sat together, sharing improbable tales of yesterday and dreams of things yet to come.

The cries on the night air were something out of their control. They were soon forgotten as the Roamers fell into sleep, huddled together against the cold darkness of the world outside.

**2**

The dawn broke. The Tribe rose to the sound of a restless young leader barking commands. They packed the tents and furs, harnessed the sled to the stronger men, and were quickly moving up into the pass that led through the mountains. They had a long way to go and their resources had been plundered. It would take all their efforts to get the piano up the hill and down the other side in good time.

It was midday when the sun finally broke through the clouds, warming the world and lighting the path ahead. They had finally come to the point in the hills where the road began to decline. The men grunted as they tugged with Doll's piano, grateful that they would soon be traveling downhill. As their descent became more pronounced, their spirits lifted and Parker started singing again. The others joined in, and the cheerful tune bounced off the hills around them.

Ish grew excited at the sight of a parting in the rocks ahead. She was sure that she knew this spot. The Basin was just over the hill she assured the rest. It was only be a single days' travel, and it would be over warmer lands, lands where game and other people roamed. Lands where they could sleep on the earth, with grass under their heads and blue skies overhead.

"Look!" Daniel cried. They all stopped and followed the boy's excited gesture. Before them, in the space between two shelves of rock, they could see into the valley beyond. The nomads dropped their packs, un-harnessed themselves from the piano, and ran laughing to the point in the road where the distant land was visible.

They gazed out over the grand vista before them, silently, not understanding at first what they saw. Lights danced across the length of the valley, a shimmering rainbow of colors that moved over the ground and off into the horizon.

It was the Basin.

Ish moaned and averted her eyes. Parker dropped to his knees. The others wobbled on weary legs, or plopped onto the snow-covered ground, moaning. Emre's face twisted into a grimace as the fire inside him was renewed.

Where there should have been a horizon of greens and browns, where the snows should have relented and allowed the life-giving earth to bare her face from beneath its icy mask, lay a sheet of featureless white for as far as the eye could see. The ice reflected back the sunlight, creating a shimmering dance of light over its surface.

The Basin was dead.

Ish could not look again. '_Let it be wrong!'_ her heart begged, _'Let it be a trick of light!'_ But after a time, she did look, and then closed her eyes against the sight. She reached forward to embrace Daniel, but he loosed himself from her grasp and walked to the lip of the road, gazing out over the spectacle of light and ice.

"It's beautiful," he said, reverently. The dancing light was something he had never seen. He stood in awe of the sight while the quiet Tribesmen gazed at their feet or wept openly into their hands.

Nayar came to Daniel's side and wrapped his arm around the boy's shoulder. "Yeah," he said with a forced chuckle, "What a sight, eh?" The boy smiled up at his weary friend.

"I never knew there was such a place in the world," he said. "Uncle never told me. He never said anything…" the boy trailed off as he gazed on the beauty of the frozen plains. "So many places," he whispered. He had never known.

Emre's anger burned in his veins and his face contorted with uncontrollable tears of rage. "Why!" he yelled, brandishing his machete' and moving towards Parker.

Parker saw the blade in the young Chief's hand, but he was beyond fighting now. He did not move to defend himself and the distraught Tribe did not move to intervene. Nayar pulled Daniel away; shielding the boy's eyes against what he knew was coming.

Ish rose as Emre' raised his blade for the strike, but she knew she could not reach him in time.

Parker closed his eyes and prepared himself, knowing that it was his pride that had killed them all. This was justice. But the strike did not come. He opened his eyes to see the young man standing before him, his face washed in tears, his body trembling uncontrollably.

"I want to live!" Emre' screamed, though his tears. "It was my time! _My time!"_ he cried, as his rage gave way to other emotions.

Parker's tears fell too, and he leaned forward to embrace Emre', the young Chief who had no place left to lead his people. He hugged Emre' like he was the son whom he'd lain in the ice years ago; the son that Ish had born him, and who had died as all the children of the Tribe had, when the seasons went insane.

"I'm sorry," was all he could say. After a moment the young man returned the embrace and they stood that way while the others looked on.

Bosche' and Otter said nothing. Their faces held no expression, as if they did not understand the meaning of the dead valley beyond. But they did. They waited for their Chief's command. After their moment was over, Emre' and Parker unlocked and the two eyed each other quietly.

"I know you did what you thought was right," Emre' said, wiping tears away. Then he turned to the young men and motioned for them to stand by him. They did so without hesitation. He glanced at the women, and Rosa understood. She turned to Ish and the two held each other tightly, sharing a last embrace. Then Rosa stood, quietly, and walked to where Daniel was standing with Nayar. She knelt before the boy and kissed him firmly on his cheek.

When she had said goodbye to Daniel she gazed into Nayar's face. After a moment's indecision, she planted a peck on his wrinkled forehead and walked to where Parker stood. He wrapped her in his huge arms and they stood that way for some time before Rosa freed herself and went to stand at her Chief's side. There was a final knowing exchange of looks. Then, as a group, the young people continued down the road. The rest were silent, watching as their shapes shrank into small points in the distance.

Time passed in silence. The wind kicked up and fell again. Eventually Tomas rose from the place he had been kneeling in the road. His face was expressionless and he said nothing as he took his bag and hoisted it onto his back. He stood before Parker, saying nothing for minutes. Their feelings passed between them in a language that needed no sound to be expressed. Then he turned and hugged the others tightly, gripping each for a long moment. When he had said his goodbyes, he began walking down the road after the young people. Mak stood quickly and embraced his friends before turning to cast a strange long look on Daniel. He placed his hand on the boy's innocent face, just for a moment, and then ran to catch Tomas.

Neither had taken any food.

There was no need.

Daniel didn't understand the silence. "Where are they going?" he asked as the two old warriors disappeared into the growing dusk. "What do we do now?" he asked when no one responded.

Ish came to him then, and hugged him tightly. Daniel felt her trembling as her warm lips pressed against his face. She gazed at him for a long moment. But no words escaped her mouth. She cast a warm look at Nayar and something passed between them that Daniel could not understand. Then Ish rose slowly, and went to sit on a snowy ledge with Parker. There they cuddled together silently.

By now the sky was growing dark. The air was still and the clouds had dispersed to allow a glimpse of the crystalline stars above. Daniel saw to Doll, as he had always done, and then stood by, feeling confused and helpless in the midst of the quiet adults around him.

"Why don't you sit over here with me, Daniel?" Nayar said. "It's getting a little chilly. Maybe you can warm me up with a tale or two about your Machine lady, eh?" the old man chuckled.

Daniel went and sat in Nayar's lap, wondering why they didn't break camp, or put the tents up to stay warm. The old man bundled the boy into his jacket and wrapped him tightly in his weary old arms. He suppressed a tear as he cradled the innocent against him.

"Tell me some more about her Daniel," he said, doing his best to keep the sorrow from his voice. He was tired. Very tired. "Tell me some stories about your Doll."

"Ok…" Daniel replied, his voice shaking in the growing cold.

And Daniel did tell his stories. He had plenty to share. He had heard them himself time and time again.

As he talked it grew very, very cold, and soon he was shivering so badly that he couldn't finish his tale. So he stopped talking and pressed tighter against the old man, who seemed to have gone to sleep. Daniel gazed up at the sparkling sky and wondered at the magnitude of the space above. After a time it started to grow warm and he began to feel comfortable.

Gradually he slipped into a warm dream of places he'd never been, or even known about.

**3**

The sun rose over the quiet earth. Doll watched its slow progress as she had done for longer than any human had ever known. She did not concern herself with the passage of time. It was a concern only for those whose lives were limited by its coarse regulations. But when Daniel did not come see to her, as was his routine, she stood and walked to the boy, who was still sleeping, bundled up snugly in the old man's lap.

"Time to wake," she said to Daniel.

He did not respond.

"Daniel," she beckoned.

But the boy just sat, his silent white face staring up, unseeing, at the featureless sky.

Across the road Ish and Parker sat quietly in each other's embrace. Doll stood unmoving for some time as she pondered the situation. The sun moved into the sky slowly, and she fed from its rays as she considered the strange behavior of the people around her.

Finally, she understood.

She was still for some time with this realization, not really knowing what must be done. Eventually she did the only thing that she knew.

She took the bindings off her treasure carefully, grateful that the weather was calm and falling ice, or rocks thrown by frenzied winds, would not damage it. When it was unwrapped, she sat at the keys and lifted her hands to play.

But she paused.

Something was missing, she realized, some element that she didn't, at first, understand. She sat for another indistinguishable length of time, and finally this realization came to her also.

There was no one left to play for.

4

_And with this thought a new feeling filled her mind. Images came with that feeling. Faces. The happy faces of the singing tribe and the laughing eyes of the boy when he had been small; the weeping faces of the audiences who had been gathered in quiet rooms in the early years of her flight; the hateful, desperate faces of the man who had tried to force himself on her and the mad children that had caused her such pains; the distressed faces of Uncle and the young man who had fought with Parker; the solemn gray faces of the Tribe before they had quietly walked out of her life and into the shadows beyond._

_And the soft, doll-like face of the sleeping boy, Daniel, who had loved her._

_All these faces spoke of feelings that she had never been able to share, that had always remained outside her field of comprehension._

_But there was always the sound._

_She recalled the day when magic had been performed on her; when her creator had played the 12 tones of the scale of her awakening into sentience, and then cried openly as she performed with a new emotion. She remembered the day when she had been imprinted with a love for the very element of sound that drove her: the sound of the instrument itself._

_Now she played with a new understanding of this sacred language. Slowly, the notes moved upon the frozen air. It was the piece that her creator had left for her to shape; the soft Sonata that the man's wife had loved. It was the piece that Doll had played then, as she did now, as a soft lament over a quiet grave._

_The sound flowed from her heart, onto the keys, and over the face of the sleeping world…_

_Like tears._

**The End**


End file.
